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PRINCETON,  N.  J. 

Purchased  by  the  Hammill  Missionary  Fund. 

Division  f\  Q.  . A.^C.  • 

Section 

Number 

Sc-B 

7 


i 


APR  171973 


^icc;c,u 


MAWEDO, 


THE  PALM-LAND  MAIDEN. 


BY 

REY.  R.  H.  NASSAU,  M.  D., 

AUTHOR  OF  “CROWNED  IN  PALM-LAND.” 


AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY, \ 

150  NASSAU  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


COPYRIGHT,  1882, 


BY  AMERICAN  TRACT  SOCIETY. 


INTRODUCTION. 


In  this  story  I have  gathered  many  of  the 
habits  and  customs  of  Equatorial  Africa,  and 
some  of  the  scenes  occurring  in  the  lives  of  ordi- 
nary African  women,  into  an  account  of  the  life 
of  one  actual  family. 

Mawedo  was  a real  being ; but  in  her  story 
I include  events  taken  from  the  lives  of  several 
other  women. 

Almost  all  the  incidents  here  narrated  oc- 
curred under  my  own  observation,  or  were 
related  to  me  by  reliable  informants.  I have 
invented  very  little.  But,  in  order  to  cover  up 
the  identity  of  persons  still  living,  I have 
introduced  anachronisms,  have  suppressed  and 
changed  names  of  persons,  and  have  inter- 
changed names  of  places.  r.  h.  n. 


Contents 


I.  In  the  Sunset * page  7 

II.  Ayenwe,  a Slave 15 

III.  The  Plantation  — 22 

IV.  Village  Scenes 41 

V.  Children’s  Plays 54 

VI.  Fishing 59 

VII.  Hunting 66 

VIII.  Rubber  Gathering 77 

IX.  The  Capture-- 86 

X.  Death  of  the  Chief 92 

XI.  In  a Slave  Canoe 99 

XII.  At  the  Seaside 114 

XIII.  A Little  Witch 125 

XIV.  Light  in  a Dark  Place 137 

XV.  Tempted  and  Tried 148 

XVI.  A Revelation 158 

XVII.  Baby  Fingers 169 

XVIII.  A Witchcraft  Murder 176 

XIX.  A New  Path 186 

XX.  A Brother  Indeed - 190 

XXI.  Carrying  the  Light — — 197 

XXII.  Into  the  Sunrise - 203 


NOTE. 


In  the  pronunciation  of  the  dialects  of 
Equatorial  Africa, 

1.  Give  the  English  sounds  to  all  the  conso- 
nants except  g , which  is  always  hard. 

2.  The  letter  y is  always  a consonant. 

3.  Give  to  the  vowel  a the  force  of  a in  ah! 
or  father,  e.  g.,  “Baraka,”  “inwanga.” 

To  the  vowel  a,  the  force  of  a in  law , e.  g. , 
“malanga,”  “tandaka.” 

To  the  vowel  e the  force  of  e in  they , or  of  a 
in  fate,  e.  g.,  “ Nengenenge,”  “ejaka.” 

To  the  vowel  e the  force  of  e in  met , e.  g. , 
‘ ‘ Mbade,  ” “ nyengele.  ’ ’ 

To  the  vowel  i the  force  of  i in  machine , e.  g. , 
‘ ‘ Benita,  ” “ ikenga.  ’ ’ 

To  the  vowel  0 the  force  of  0 in  bone , e.  g. , 
‘ ‘ Alongo,  ” “ kongongo.  ’ ’ 

To  the  vowel  u the  force  of  u in  rule , or  of  00 
in  moon , e.  g. , “ Uj  ij  i,  ” “ uhaka. 


MAWEDO, 

THE  PALM-LAND  MAIDEN. 


I.  IK  THE  SUNSET. 

A little  four  years-old  girl  stood  on  the 
bank  of  the  Ogowe  river,  in  childish  glee 
plucking  the  red  and  white  corollas  of  the 
clerodendron  that  clambered  over  the  dense 
bushes  lining  the  path  to  the  water-side. 
Aimlessly  she  flung  from  her  the  crushed 
petals  into  the  swift  stream  that  whirled  and 
foamed,  vexed  in  the  rocky  chasm  to  which 
it  was  confined.  Then  she  laughed  as  the 
swirling  eddies  snatched,  as  if  hungry,  the 
broken  flowers,  and  swallowed  them  in  their 
vortex,  or  carried  them  around  the  short 
turn  of  the  river  out  of  her  sight. 


8 


MA  WEDO. 


On  a gnarled  root  of  the  wild  man^o-tree 
that  leaned  out  over  the  stream,  whose  waters 
had  undermined  its  hold  on  the  steep  clay 
bank,  sat  the  little  girl's  brother,  two  years 
older  than  she,  dangling  his  bare  legs  in  the 
air  as  he  pretended  to  fish.  His  extempo- 
rized rod  was  a young  palm-frond  divested 
of  its  leaflets,  and  the  line  was  the  strong 
fibre  of  pine-apple  leaves.  Civilized  pins  had 
indeed  been  heard  of  in  that  interior  part  of 
Africa,  but  they  were  spoken  of  as  part  of  the 
White  Man’s  wealth,  and  were  too  rare  to  be 
used  by  small  boys  as  hooks.  A thorn 
served  as  fish-hook  on  that  dav.  Had  the 
boy  been  really  fishing,  roughly-made  iron 
hooks  could  have  been  procured  in  the  vil- 
lage smithy,  forged  from  iron  smelted  in 
rude  furnaces  from  native  ores,  whose  seams 
are  found  cropping  out  occasionally  on  the 
surface  of  the  ground.  The  secret  of  his 
angling  in  a locality  where  the  most  skilful 
fishermen  would  have  had  to  seek  in  vain, 


was  to  be  read  in  the  actual  fish  which  his 
mother  was  then  cleaning  by  the  little  rivulet 
that  there  joined  the  larger  stream.  That 
fish  had  been  caught,  by  one  of  their  village 
men,  a half-mile  distant ; as  the  woman  and 
her  two  children  were  emerging  from  the 
village  on  their  way  to  her  plantation,  the 
boy’s  hungry  eyes  had  seen  a basket  full  of 
fishes  lying  in  the  street,  and  his  quick 
fingers  had  stolen  one  and  slipped  it  among 
the  plantain  leaves  of  his  own  basket.  Safely 
out  of  the  village,  he  had  shown  it  to  his 
mother,  and  at  her  bidding  he  was  going 
through  the  piscatory  motions  on  which  to 
base  the  claim  that  he  himself  had  caught 
the  fish,  if  suspicion  for  its  loss  should  hap- 
pen to  fall  on  him. 

And  now  the  scraping  of  the  fish-scales 
was  done,  and  the  mother,  looking  up,  saw 
that  the  day  was  passing,  for  the  sun  had 
sunk  below  the  tree-tops.  All  animated 
nature  was  hasting  to  prepare  for  the  rapid- 


Mawedo. 


2 


IO 


MA  WE  DO. 


ly  falling  night.  The  blue  kingfisher,  with 
quick  dart  and  petulant  cry,  left  his  perch 
on  a dead  branch  to  seek  his  well-concealed 
nest.  The  flock  of  pelicans  lifted  their  un- 
wieldy bodies,  and  on  wide-spread  white 
wings  slowly  sailed  away  for  their  ragged 
nests  in  the  dead  tree-tops.  The  great  blue 
heron  gathered  up  his  long  legs,  and  with 
low  flight,  slowly  flapping  his  long,  curved 
wings,  sank  among  the  tall,  thick-stemmed 
grasses  that  fringed  a quieter  reach  of  water 
up  stream.  Overhead,  above  the  forest, 
hasted  hundreds  of  red-tailed  gray  parrots, 
screaming  their  harsh  note,  as  with  quick, 
labored  stroke  they  winged  their  way  to 
where  their  ever  open-mouthed  young 
squawked  in  their  nests  in  the  hollow  trees. 
The  evening  breeze  came  with  refreshing 
breath  to  cool  the  woman’s  face,  vexed  with 
the  hot  day ; and  its  dampness  extracted  the 
fragrance  of  the  parti-colored  flowers  that 
hung  from  vines,  and  of  the  pea-shaped  bios- 


IN  THE  SUNSET 


1 1 


soms  of  the  many  pod-bearing  trees  that 
lined  the  banks. 

Not  all  native  Africans  have  the  typical 
thick,  out-turned  lips,  and  flat,  coarse  nose 
that  we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with  the 
negro.  This  woman,  still  quite  young,  had 
been  graceful  in  form  ; her  thin  nostrils  were 
dilating  in  the  scented  wind,  and  her  features, 
“dark  but  comely,”  lost  for  a moment  the 
imbruted  expression  that  oppression  and 
sorrow  had  marked  on  her  youth.  To  her, 
life  was  all  sunset  in  its  shadows. 

Was  it  a stirring  of  some  gift  which 
under  the  fostering  hand  of  Christian  civili- 
zation might  have  made  her  an  artist,  that 
caused  her  eye  to  rest,  with  sad  questioning, 
on  the  mysterious  glory  of  the  clouds,  blazing 
in  red  and  gold  between  the  green  setting  of 
the  forest  below  and  the  blue  vault  above? 
While  everything  in  and  about  her  life  only 
crushed  out  whatever  was  beautiful  and  good, 
she  seldom  thought  of  looking  at  the  rare 


JlIA  WE  DO. 


12 

glories  of  the  tropical  sunset.  A handful  of 
red  beads  would  sooner  have  elicited  her 
admiration.  But  to-day  the  village  life  had 
been  especially  cruel ; and,  gazing  still  at  the 
flaming  furnace  of  the  west,  she  found  a 
strange  rest  in  the  unrest  of  the  constantly 
varying  shapes  that  to  a civilized  eye  might 
have  seemed  domes  and  pillars,  but  to  this 
woman,  knowing  nothing  of  domes  and  pil- 
lars, resembled  so  many  gigantic  elephants, 
white  and  golden  trunked,  under  enormous 
palm-fronds  tinted  red  and  gray,  by  rivers 
that  flowed  like  molten  brass  between  deep, 
violet-hued  banks  flecked  with  ferns.  Stream- 
ing out  over  all,  burnishing,  dissolving,  re-crea- 
ting, fading,  were  the  wands  of  light  that 
arm-like  shot  from  the  sunk  magician  of  day. 
They  glanced  on  the  lower  line  of  clouds, 
but  those  clouds  had  faded  out  their  brilliant 
life,  and  lay  in  misty  grayness,  only  their 
edges  responding,  as  with  electric  flash,  to 
the  magician’s  touch.  They  reached  into 


IN  THE  SUNSET. 


>3 


the  darkening  zenith,  and  spread  their  weird 
fingers,  flinging  warm,  rosy  light  to  the  por- 
tals of  the  north  and  the  south.  But  the 
mystic  arms  were  drawn  back  no  longer  with 
fingers  rosy  and  warm,  but  weary  with  their 
wild  play,  and  bruised  and  broken  and  dark- 
ened ; even  as  this  woman’s  heart  had  reached 
out  with  affection,  and  had  recoiled  broken, 
bitter,  and  hateful. 

She  was  startled  by  the  fierce  snort  and 
deep  bellow  of  the  river-horse  from  the  pool 
down  river,  where  he  had  spent  the  day  in 
stupid  and  sleepy  repose  beneath  the  water, 
only  lifting  his  great  head  above  the  surface 
every  few  minutes  to  breathe  and  spout.  He 
was  now  leading  his  herd  up  the  bank  for 
their  nightly  raid  on  the  plantations,  and  the 
realization  of  this  fact  brought  back  life’s 
hard  lines  and  cares  to  the  cloud-watcher. 
Thinking  of  her  own  patch  of  cassava  and 
plantain,  she  laughed  a short  bitter  laugh  as 
she  derisively  shouted  to  the  huge  brutes, 


14 


M.A  IVEDO. 


“Are  you  going  to  my  garden?”  Then  she 
stooped  to  chide  to  quietness  her  little  girl, 
who,  having  a while  before  stopped  pelting 
the  water  with  flowers,  had  been  sitting  by  her 
brother,  who  had  descended  from  his  perch 
on  the  gnarled  root.  The  little  girl,  fright- 
ened by  the  snort  of  the  hippopotamus  that 
had  startled  her  mother,  had  left  her  brother 
and  was  grasping  her  mother’s  knee  for  pro- 
tection. 

Warned  by  the  coming  darkness,  the 
woman  now  snatched  up  her  basket,  said  to 
the  children,  “Yogoni”  (come),  and  hastily 
gathered  her  burdens  for  the  remainder  of 
the  walk  to  her  plantation. 


A YEN  WE,  A SLAVE. 


*5 


II.  AYENWE,  A SIlAYE. 

A-ye-nwe  was  a slave.  But  she  had  once 
been  free.  Six  years  before,  she  was  living,  a 
young  wife,  in  a large  town  of  her  own  Ba-te-ke 
tribe  beyond  the  head  of  the  Ogowe  river,  on 
the  sources  of  the  Alima,  one  of  the  affluents 
of  the  Congo-Livingstone,  flowing  into  that 
mighty  river  near  Stanley  Pool.  Her  family 
was  poor,  and  she  and  her  young  husband 
were  accorded  but  slight  position  in  the 
strife  for  honor  in  the  town  talks,  or  when 
decisions  about  quarrels  were  rendered  in 
the  public  waiting-house.  To  their  poverty 
was  added  the  disadvantage  of  belonging  to 
the  weaker  branch  of  the  family.  The  hus- 
band, indeed,  deserved  very  little  considera- 
tion, for  he  was  indolent  and  disinclined  to 
physical  exertion,  and  had  little  intelligence 
or  force  of  character,  while  he  made  up  in 
arrogant  violence  what  he  lacked  in  actual 


i6 


MA  WEDO. 


power.  He  was  disliked  by  his  superiors, 
and  feared  by  his  equals  or  inferiors. 

Ayenwe’s  grace  and  good  looks  would 
have  won  her  favor,  and  her  quick  intelli- 
ligence  and  commendable  energy  might 
have  commanded  respect,  had  she  been  pru- 
dent and  patient.  But  her  pride  resented 
the  slights  put  on  her  family,  and  her  sharp 
tongue  was  too  fond  of  sarcasm,  and  became 
wreckless  in  scattering  the  fire-brands  of  slan- 
der, and  bitter  in  curses  and  insults  when 
engaged  in  a wordy  quarrel. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  when  an  evil  day 
came,  as  come  many  evil  days  in  the  lawless- 
ness of  that  country,  and  a stronger  faction 
of  the  tribe  pressed  the  chief  of  the  village 
for  the  payment  of  an  old  heavy  debt,  the 
chief  sold  his  own  flesh  and  blood  into  slavery. 
A convenient  charge,  based  on  some  threat 
of  Ayenwe’s  and  some  violent  act  of  her 
husband's,  was  laid  against  them  in  village 
council,  and  condemnation  to  loss  of  freedom, 


A YEN  WE,  A SEA  YE. 


J7 


the  common  punishment  for  other  than  cap- 
ital crimes,  was  denounced  against  them. 
Such  prisoners  are  held  in  servitude,  not  in 
the  limits  of  their  own  tribe,  nor  in  the 
hands  of  a more  interior  (and  therefore 
inferior)  tribe,  but  by  any  tribe  “down  river” 
on  the  way  to  the  Great  Sea,  where  were 
reported  to  live  the  White  Spirits  who  bought, 
and  were  believed  to  eat,  the  thousands  of 
slaves  that  yearly  were  carried  thither. 

So  Ayenwe  and  her  husband  were  handed 
over  to  the  creditor,  who,  as  he  would  have 
found  them  a turbulent  possession  in  his  or 
their  own  tribe,  quickly  disposed  of  them  to 
an  adjacent  tribe  on  the  western  side  of  the 
watershed  of  the  Ogowe.  There  they  were 
separated,  the  husband  being  passed  on  and 
on,  Ayenwe  never  knew  to  where ; and  she 
herself  fell  into  the  hands  of  a rich  old  man 
of  the  Okota  tribe  living  near  Aduma,  south 
of  the  upper  portion  of  the  Ogowe,  by  whom 
she  was  added  to  the  company  of  his  other 

filuwetlo. 


O 


MAWEDO. 


18 

wives,  all  of  whom,  whether  bond  or  free, 
were  in  effect  slaves,  having  been  bought 
either  with  a dowry  ( ivule ) as  a wife,  or  with 
a price  ( ihambe ) as  a slave.  Favoritism  on 
the  part  of  their  master  made  servitude  less 
heavy  for  some  than  for  others.  But  on  this 
newest  slave  fell  the  heaviest  lot;  for  her 
fellow-slaves,  women  though  they  were,  in 
the  selfishness  and  cruelty  bred  of  oppres- 
sion, practised  on  her  the  despotism  of  which 
they  themselves  were  victims,  and  shirked  off 
on  her  as  large  as  possible  a share  of  their 
own  burdens. 

Such  treatment  of  a new-comer  is  not 
confined  to  human  nature  in  a state  of  sla- 
very. The  latest  member  of  the  herd  or  the 
flock,  as  every  country  lad  knows,  has  to 
fight  the  old  leader,  and  every  new  pupil  has 
to  square  off  with  the  school  bully,  before  the 
status  is  determined  for  the  steer  in  the  pas- 
ture, the  cock  in  the  hennery,  or  the  boy  on 
the  play-ground. 


A YEN  WE,  A SLAVE. 


I9 


But  Ayenwe’s  life  might  have  gradually 
become  easier,  and  her  burdens  would  per- 
haps have  been  shared  by  new  male  and  fe- 
male slaves  added  from  time  to  time,  had  not 
her  temper  ill  brooked  her  new  degradation. 
She  threw  herself  into  a posture  of  antago- 
nism that  unwisely  resisted  where  resistance 
was  vain,  and  thus  drew  on  herself  the  objur- 
gation not  only  of  the  favorites  of  the  house- 
hold but  even  of  the  old  man  himself.  He 
wasted  few  words  in  rebuke ; lashes  soon  left 
their  bloody  marks  on  her  back.  The  inch- 
thick  hide  of  the  hippopotamus  and  of  the 
manatee,  or  sea-cow,  cut  into  long  whips  with 
two  or  more  tails  at  the  end,  makes  a knout 
(Kasa-nguvu)  that  every  Guinea  negro  hangs 
on  the  wall  of  his  home,  ready  for  use  on  any 
obstinate  member  of  his  harem.  Then  in 
vain  Aye  n we  would  scream,  and  implore,  and 
protest,  and  roll  in  the  dust  at  the  old  man’s 
feet,  and  hold  up  her  hands  to  ward  off  the 
blows.  They  fell,  all  the  same,  on  face,  on 


20 


MA  IVEDO. 


arm,  or  whatever  was  exposed,  till  his  fury 
was  spent,  and  she  limped,  bleeding,  crushed, 
spirit-broken,  not  conquered,  but  embittered, 
to  the  poor  refuge  of  her  smoky  hut,  where 
her  wounds  would  be  bathed  by  some  fellow- 
slave.  But  the  kasa-nguvu  made  her  no 
more  tractable,  for  the  rod  nowhere  teaches 
a good  lesson  when  wielded  by  other  than 
love.  Ayenwe  would  sob  out  her  paroxysm 
of  ill-will,  pain,  and  shame,  and  then  find  her 
only  comfort  in  fondling  her  little  baby 
boy. 

Though  actually  born  in  slavery,  and 
therefore  himself  a slave,  he  was  to  her  a me- 
mento of  her  life  as  a Bateke  free-woman,  and 
at  his  birth  she  had  named  him  O-va-nga 
(Ransom)  as  if  with  a vague  hope  that  he 
would  some  day  be  her  rescuer.  This  was 
her  one  hope,  cherished  secretly,  her  conso- 
lation in  grief. 

When,  two  years  later,  a little  girl  baby 
came  to  her,  she  turned  her  face  away  from 


A YEN  WE,  A SLAVE. 


21 


it,  and  called  it  Ma-we-do  (Death’s),  finding 
in  its  slave  life  only  aggravated  affliction  for 
herself,  knowing  that  as  soon  as  the  child 
should  be  serviceable  for  any  work,  it  would 
be  separated  from  her  and  made  a servant  to 
others. 


22 


MA IVEDO. 


Ill  THE  PLANTATION. 

When  Ayemve  turned  from  the  sunset  to 
go  to  her  garden,  she  hastily  stepped  to  the 
rivulet  where  she  had  washed  the  fish,  and 
filled  an  earthen  jug,  containing  several  gal- 
lons, with  the  fresh  spring-water. 

Filthy  as  most  natives  are  as  to  what  they 
eat  and  drink,  of  decaying  flesh,  and  from 
unwashed  vessels,  yet  they  are  disgusted 
with  river-water,  because  the  corpses  of  slaves 
and  other  despised  persons  are  not  buried, 
but  flung  into  the  rivers.  The  sight  of  these 
bodies,  carried  down  stream,  causes  boat- 
crews  to  throw  aside  their  paddles  and  cover 
their  eyes,  and  go  thirsty  for  a long  while,  ra- 
ther than  drink  from  a wave  that  bears  to 
their  superstitious  thought  the  memory  of 
the  rigid  form  that  has  floated  by  them. 
Crews  will  stop  their  boats  to  drink  at  the 


THE  PLANTATION. 


23 


mouths  of  small  affluents,  and  village  women 
go  a long  way  into  the  forest  to  find  spring- 
water. 

The  water-jug  was  put  in  Ayenwe’s  large 
basket,  and  surrounded  by  her  other  and 
smaller  burdens;  the  roll  of  mosquito-netting 
(na-go-mbo),  made  of  a coarse  cloth  woven 
from  the  soft  unexpanded  leaves  of  a certain 
palm-tree,  was  packed  around  the  jug,  with  a 
few  extra  yards  of  waist-cloth  of  the  same 
material  for  a covering  at  night ; the  little 
bundle  of  salt  (izanga),  a few  leaves  of  native- 
grown  tobacco,  a pipe,  and  a cutlass  were  se- 
curely placed.  Then,  stooping  down,  Ayen- 
we  adjusted  the  basket  to  the  curve  of  her 
back,  holding  it  in  position  by  a strap  made 
of  wood-fibre,  that  passed  around  the  lower 
part  of  the  basket  and  over  her  forehead,  or 
the  top  of  her  head  where  the  thick  mat  of 
braided  hair  acted  as  a cushion  to  support 
the  weight. 

The  rivulet  was  crossed  by  a narrow 


24 


M A WE  DO. 


bridge  made  of  a fallen  tree,  whose  diameter 
constituted  the  entire  width.  Strong  vines 
had  been  tied,  by  some  one  of  those  who  had 
more  frequent  occasion  to  traverse  the  bridge, 
from  the  tree’s  uptorn  roots  on  one  bank  to 
the  remains  of  its  branches  on  the  other 
bank,  thus  affording  a slight  railing.  Rude 
bridges  of  this  kind  are  the  common  means 
for  crossing  narrow  streams.  Sometimes, 
when  a single  felled  tree  does  not  in  its  fall 
reach  the  opposite  side,  a corresponding  tree 
on  that  opposite  side  is  cut  down  so  as,  in 
falling,  to  mingle  its  top  with  the  top  already 
in  mid-stream.  Vines  are  then  fastened  as  a 
railing  from  one  side  to  the  other,  being 
braced  by  other  vines  to  the  upright  branches, 
and  guyed  to  other  trees  ashore.  These 
braces  are  from  time  to  time  renewed.  As 
the  tree-trunks  gradually  sink  into  thfe  river- 
bed, the  vines  stretched  from  shore  to  shore 
remain,  and  are  themselves  used  as  a tight- 
rope, having  much  the  appearance  of  a sus- 


THE  PLANTATION. 


*5 


pension-bridge;  but  they  are  less  dangerous 
than  a tight-rope  in  that  a rest  for  the  hands 
is  afforded. 

When  the  three  were  safely  across  the 
bridge,  little  Mawedo,  who  was  still  fretting  at 
her  mother’s  side,  began  to  cry,  saying,  “ Oh, 
my  mother,  I am  tired.”  And  her  mother 
added  her  to  her  other  burdens  by  seating  her 
astride  of  her  hip,  the  child  clinging  to  the 
shoulder  of  the  left  arm  that  was  thrown 
around  her  back. 

Ayenwe  had  need  to  accelerate  her  pace, 
for  the  shadows  over  the  narrow  forest-path 
were  now  fully  deepened  into  darkness.  The 
forest-sounds  about  her  were  alarming  to  a 
superstitious  mind.  Blundering  beetles  and 
moths  seemed,  though  desperately  trying  to 
avoid  her  face,  to  viciously  dash  themselves 
against  her.  Enormous  bats,  pursuing  their 
search  for  food,  fluttered  their  clammy  wings 
wildly  across  the  path,  or,  in  zigzag  ascent 
and  descent,  barely  escaped  fastening  their 

4 


Mawedo. 


26 


MA  WEDO. 


claws  and  rat-like  mouths  on  her  bare  shoul- 
ders. Night-hawks,  wheeling  rapidly  after 
their  insect  prey,  startled  her  with  their  sharp 
whir.  The  fireflies  glinted  from  bush  to 
bush,  and  Ovanga,  more  daring  than  herself, 
caught  them  and,  with  a boy’s  cruelty,  waved 
them  on  the  end  of  a stick,  in  imitation  of 
the  resinous  torch  (otya)  that  his  mother  car- 
ried in  her  right  hand,  lighted  from  the  dead- 
wood  brand  that  she  had  brought  from  the 
village.  She  regarded  with  more  than  half 
belief  the  story  of  some  of  her  people  that 
those  flitting  fireflies  were  transmigrated  spir- 
its lost  on  their  way  to  the  unknown  fu- 
turity. 

She  threw  the  fitful  light  of  the  torch  be- 
fore  her  on  the  path.  Perhaps  the  dreaded 
“ pe,”  or  horned-viper  (Echidna  Gabonica) 
might  be  lying  sluggishly  in  the  way.  For 
the  bite  of  other  snakes  native  skill  professes 
to  have  efficient  medicines;  but  so  deadly  is 
this  one  considered  that  no  effort  is  made  to 


THE  PLANTATION. 


*1 


cure,  and  the  bitten  one  dies.  This  reptile  is 
only  a few  feet  in  length — not  nearly  as  long 
as  several  others,  but  in  proportion  thicker 
than  they ; two  short  cartilaginous  horns 
stand  erect  between  its  eyes,  and  its  diamond- 
shaped head  and  broad  back  are  covered  with 
beautiful,  velvety,  yellow  and  black  scales. 
When  a native  is  bitten  by  this  snake,  his 
only  hope  of  relief  is  to  conceal  its  name  and 
report  that  he  was  bitten  by  some  other  ser- 
pent. Then  the  native  doctor,  in  his  empiri- 
cal efforts  at  medication,  may  stumble  on  a 
cure.  But  if  the  sufferer  reports  that  he  was 
bitten  by  a “pe,”  the  doctor,  hopeless  of  suc- 
cess, will  not  even  make  an  attempt  to  save. 

Or  perhaps  the  light  of  the  torch  on  the 
path  would  reveal  the  black  line  of  “ Driver  ” 
ants,  crossing  it  in  their  march  as  scaven- 
gers to  some  cast-away  corpse,  or  the  body 
of  some  wild  animal  dead  of  wounds  or  sick- 
ness. These  wonderful  insects,  organized  in 
an  army  of  millions,  march  rapidly  in  ranks 


28 


MA  WEDO. 


of  five  or  six  abreast.  On  each  side  of  the 
line,  at  close  intervals,  are  pickets  of  a size 
larger  than  the  common  race  ; and  up  and 
down  the  line  rush  enormous  fellows  who 
seem  to  act  as  captains.  This  army  eats 
nothing  but  animal  tissue  or  its  products — 
dead  bodies  in  the  forest,  or  any  living  rep- 
tile or  animal  that  cannot  or  does  not  get  out 
of  the  way.  Fortunately,  the  ants  do  not  de- 
flect from  the  line  of  march  in  order  offen- 
sively to  attack  or  pursue.  Only  when  any 
animal  stubbornly  stands  in  their  chosen 
way,  or  heedlessly  treads  on  them,  do  they 
attack.  When  they  come  to  human  habita- 
tions, the  insects  in  the  walls,  the  food  in  the 
pantry,  and  the  dwellers  themselves,  are  by 
the  army  assumed  to  be  in  their  way;  insects 
and  animal  food  are  entirely  cleared  away, 
and  the  human  occupants  must  retreat  from 
room  to  room,  or  sometimes  actually  desert 
the  house,  until,  in  an  hour  or  two,  the  inva- 
ding army,  which  on  entering  had  broken 


THE  PLANTATION. 


29 


ranks  and  deployed  in  every  direction  over 
the  house,  re-forms,  and  the  entire  line  moves 
away,  each  mouth  laden  with  plunder  of  in- 
sect wings  and  legs  and  bodies,  and  morsels 
of  meat.  In  crossing  a path  the  ranks  close 
up  densely,  and  the  pickets,  crowding  to- 
gether, climb,  one  from  each  side,  over  the 
back  of  a comrade,  and,  joining  their  anten- 
nae in  an  arch  above,  form  a living  tunnel, 
under  which  the  army  rushes.  So  obvious 
does  this  thick  black  tunnel  make  itself  to 
the  sight  of  passing  animals  that  none  will 
tread  on  it ; even  the  ponderous  elephant 
lifts  his  broad  feet  above  it,  and  a dog  stops 
and  carefully  leaps  over  it.  An  unwary  trav- 
eller who  may  heedlessly  tread  on  the  line  is 
instantly  covered  with  hundreds  of  angry 
ants  which  bury  their  mandibles  in  his  flesh. 
The  bite,  though  not  at  all  poisonous,  is  vi- 
ciously sharp,  and  on  sensitive  parts  of  the 
body  exquisitely  painful,  and  so  unendurable 
as  to  make  the  sufferer  regardless  of  any- 


3° 


MA  WED  O. 


thing  except  the  immediate  tearing  off  of 
clothing  and  the  extraction  of  the  pugna- 
cious fangs.  Yet,  annoying  as  this  little  in- 
sect is  at  times,  it  performs  a valuable  service 
in  destroying  dead  animal  matter,  and  in  rid- 
ding human  habitations  of  vermin,  such  as 
other  insects,  and  even  rats,  mice  and  rep- 
tiles. 

But  more  than  from  dread  of  beast,  or 
reptile,  or  insect,  Ayenwe’s  heart  beat  with 
fear,  and  she  hastened  Ovanga’s  errant  steps 
into  an  actual  trot  as  she  thought  of  the 
ghosts  (abambo)  that  almost  every  adult  na- 
tive declares  he  or  she  has  seen  in  the  forest 
at  night,  and  which  the  magicians,  in  their 
frenzied  incantations,  declare  they  see  and 
communicate  with.  Doubtless  their  imagi- 
nations, aroused  by  expectation,  wild  with 
drum  and  dance,  and  crazed  by  hasheesh 
(Cannabis  indica)  or  other  drugs,  do  see  fright- 
ful shapes  that  have  to  them  the  force  of 
reality. 


THE  PLANTA  IT  ON. 


3i 


The  little  party  were  relieved  when  they 
came  in  sisrht  of  the  collection  of  three  or 

O 

four  bamboo  and  bark  huts,  built  around  a 
square  in  the  centre  of  a plantation  of  sev- 
eral acres  of  plantain  (Musa  sapientum),  cas- 
sava or  manioc  (Jatropha  manihot),  yams,  ed- 
doefe  (Arum  esculentum),  maize,  squashes,  su- 
gar-cane, okra,  and  other  vegetables. 

The  villages,  consisting  of  low,  square,  ga- 
ble-roofed huts,  ranged  on  both  sides  of  one 
or  more  broad  streets,  are  built  always  on  the 
banks  of  streams,  for  those  natural  highways 
are  the  only  roads  of  the  country  ; in  the 
rear  of  each  house  there  is  a small  kitchen- 
garden  (behu),  but  there  is  not  room  enough 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  village  for  each  woman 
to  have  her  several  acres  of  plantation.  The 
women,  therefore,  who  perform  the  agricul- 
tural labor,  all  join  in  little  bands  to  make 
their  plantation  farms  a mile  or  so  distant,  in 
the  roomy,  uninhabited  forest  wilderness. 
And  there  they  take  turns,  as  Ayenwe  was 


32 


A/A  WED  O. 


now  doing,  in  guarding  those  farms  at  night 
from  the  depredations  of  wild  beasts.  When 
Ayenwe  saw  the  light  of  the  camp-fire  throw- 
ing its  welcome  towards  her  over  the  broad 
plantain  leaves  in  which  the  huts  were  em- 
bowered, and  heard  the  animated  voices  of 
the  few  other  male  and  female  slaves  who  had 
preceded  her,  she  and  Ovanga,  with  the  mer- 
curiality of  their  race,  forgot  their  recent  for- 
est dreads,  and  broke  out  into  a shrill  song 
which  notified  the  others  of  their  coming. 

They  joined  the  women  cooking  around 
the  fires,  and  began  to  prepare  their  own  sup- 
per. This  consisted  ordinarily  of  roasted 
ears  of  maize,  yams,  or  other  vegetables,  cas- 
sava-bread (iguma),  or  boiled  plantains ; to- 
night the  fish  which  Ovanga  had  stolen  made 
a welcome  addition  to  the  meal. 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly.  All  were 
slaves  together,  and  had  a common  sympa- 
thy. It  was  night,  the  day’s  work  was  done, 
and  the  necessity  for  the  night-watch  would 


THE  PLANTATION. 


33 


not  come  for  several  hours  yet.  Together, 
but  each  family  forming  a company  of  two 
or  three,  they  sat  down  in  the  open  air, 
either  on  low  stools  or  on  the  ground,  around 
a basin  of  vegetables  and  the  little  iron  pot  in 
which  was  the  fish,  swimming  in  its  own  soup 
or  nut  gravy.  The  camp-fires  flashed  in  the 
evening  breeze  and  sent  a cheerful  light  over 
the  bamboo  or  bark  walls  of  the  huts,  and  on 
the  broad,  pea-green  ragged  leaves  of  the 
plantains;  and  nearer  to  the  faces  of  the 
group,  torches  of  the  gum  of  the  okumi-tree 
flared,  with  incense-like  odor  and  sooty 
smoke.  For  plates  there  were  squares  of 
smooth  fleshy  plantain  leaves,  which,  when 
the  repast  was  done,  needed  no  washing,  but, 
flung  on  the  waste-heap  at  the  end  of  the 
street,  would  be  replaced  next  day  by  fresh 
ones. 

Very  little  water  is  drunk  during  eating, 
but  at  the  end  of  the  meal  a copious  draught  is 
taken  from  jug,  or  gourd,  or  possibly  a for- 

5 


Mawedo. 


34 


MA  WE  BO. 


eign-trade  pitcher  and  mug.  Mouth  and  teeth 
are  scrupulously  rinsed,  and  cleansed  with 
the  fingers,  after  the  latter  have  been  wiped 
on  the  one  soiled  garment  that  serves  as 
dress,  apron,  handkerchief,  and  sheet. 

Then  came  the  evening  dances  and  song. 
The  few  utensils  and  stools  were  cleared 
away  from  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  one 
of  the  men  got  out  the  tom-tom  drums  ; these 
are  hollowed  logs,  several  feet  long,  but  only 
from  six  to  ten  inches  in  diameter,  with  a 
goat-skin  or  monkey-skin  head,  on  which  the 
performer  thumps  with  the  knuckles  and 
finger-tips,  as  he  holds  the  drum  between  his 
knees.  Another  took  a rudely  made  in- 
strument, constructed  like  a xylophone,  of 
resonant  wood  arranged  in  parallel  bars  of 
regularly  increasing  length  and  thickness. 
Seated  on  either  side  of  the  street  were 
the  rest  of  the  men  and  all  the  women. 
Singly,  or  in  pairs,  they  would  step  in  front 
of  the  musicians  and  move  about  in  harmo- 


THE  PLANTATION. 


35 


ny  with  the  perfect  time  of  the  unmelodious 
music,  accompanying  the  same  with  a weird 
melody,  their  voices  varying  from  low  rich 
tones  to  a high-strained  falsetto,  and  the  notes 
ranging  through  every  register  of  the  human 
voice.  Their  comrades  on  the  seats  joined 
in  a chorus  to  the  song  whose  words  were 
improvised  by  the  dancers,  and  added  to  the 
din  by  steadily  beating  their  hands  together 
or  on  their  naked  thighs,  in  unison  with  the 
perfectly  kept  time.  The  music,  in  triple 
time,  gradually  accelerated  its  movement  as 
the  dancers  became  excited,  the  men  hopping 
and  jumping  about  rather  clumsily,  but  the 
women  moving  with  graceful,  languid  sway- 
ing of  arm  and  foot.  The  children  ran  in 
and  out  among  the  dancers,  imitating  their 
elders,  or  playing  at  hide  and  seek,  and  finally, 
wearied,  lay  down  to  sleep  near  the  camp- 
fire. As  one  set  of  dancers  tired,  others 
stepped  into  their  places ; the  drumming 
grew  more  furious,  the  palm-wine  (alugu)  was 


36 


MA  WE  DO. 


drunk  more  freely,  the  song,  steps,  and  ges- 
tures of  the  dancers  became  wilder,  and  what 
had  been  a harmonious  combination  of  sound 
and  movement  degenerated  into  a rude  revel- 
ry. The  slaves’  masters  were  probably  en- 
joying the  same  kind  of  revelry  in  the  village 
by  the  river,  and  as  no  necessity  existed  there 
for  a night-guard  requiring  constant  vigilance, 
they  could  keep  up  their  dance  until  early 
morning  hours  and  then  sink  into  heavy 
sleep.  But  these  plantation  slaves,  needing 
to  be  awake  in  the  hours  of  darkness  usually 
taken  by  the  wild  beasts  for  feeding  on  the 
gardens,  voluntarily  stopped  at  a certain  time, 
marked  by  a few  known  constellations;  part 
lay  down  to  sleep,  and  the  remainder  sat  up, 
smoking  their  pipes  and  engaging  in  snatches 
of  conversation,  agreeing  to  take  their  own 
sleep  when  they  should  exchange,  some  hours 
later,  with  the  others.  Those  who  were  to 
take  the  second  watch  entered  their  huts, 
whose  low  eaves  required  a visitor  to  stoop, 


THE  PLANTATION. 


37 


while  a person  standing  erect  inside  could 
touch  the  low  thatch  roof.  Sleep  was  taken 
under  mosquito-netting  made  of  a cloth  wo- 
ven from  the  unexpanded  and  tender  young 
leaves  of  a bamboo-palm. 

The  watchers  outside  lounge  by  their 
fires,  vainly  seeking,  by  sitting  in  the  smoke, 
to  partially  escape  the  attacks  of  the  mosqui- 
toes. But  the  hours  drag  wearily.  The 
excitement  of  the  dance  subsides  into  a quiet 
reaction ; but  with  the  stimulus  of  the  tobac- 
co pipe,  and  spasmodic  conversation,  they  sit 
listening  for  sounds  that  indicate  the  coming 
of  the  wild  beasts.  If  it  is  moonlight,  the 
watchers  relax  their  vigilance,  for  the  wary 
animals  prefer  darker  nights ; some  of  the 
party  doze,  leaving  a single  sentinel  standing 
in  the  broad  sheen  of  the  bright  moonlight. 
But  in  the  darker  nights  various  beasts  go 
prowling  about;  monkeys  seeking  ripe  ba- 
nanas, wild  pigs  rooting  for  manioc  tubers, 
wild  cattle  browsing  on  the  maize  and  mani- 


38 


MA  WE  DO. 


oc  shrubs,  gorillas  and  chimpanzees  feeding  on 
the  sugar-cane  and  plantains,  elephants  and 
hippopotami  ready  to  tear  up  and  tread  down 
all  these  fruits  and  plants.  When  any  are 
recognized — monkeys  by  their  chattering, 
the  chimpanzee  by  its  bark,  the  gorilla  by  its 
howl,  the  hippopotamus  by  its  snort,  the  ele- 
phant by  its  trumpeting,  or  by  the  snapping 
of  the  plantain  stalks — the  watchers  quickly 
arouse  the  sleepers,  and  all,  yelling,  beating 
brass  vessels,  flaring  firebrands,  or  aimless- 
ly blazing  away  with  guns,  frighten  off  even 
the  larger  beasts.  Rarely  do  any  of  these 
animals  assault  a human  being  except  when 
they  are  wounded,  or  suddenly  met  and 
enraged. 

But  there  might  be  real  danger  from  the 
occasional  attack  of  a leopard  driven  desper- 
ate by  hunger.  Leopards  are  numerous  in  the 
forests,  and  find  as  their  prey  the  antelopes 
and  gazelles.  But  they  also  daringly  venture 
to  the  villages,  and  carry  off  sheep  and  goats 


THE  PLANTATION.  39 

that  have  not  been  housed  in  the  little 
stockade  enclosures  built  for  their  protection 
at  night.  The  small  mongrel  dogs  of  the 
country  are  also  seized  and  carried  off.  Oc- 
casionally, the  impunity  with  which  these 
leopards  thus  enter  the  villages  makes  them 
audacious,  and  they  attempt  the  weak  bam- 
boo or  bark  walls  of  the  huts,  and  attack 
human  beings. 

But  the  great  dread  with  which  leopards 
are  regarded  is  mixed  with  a superstition 
which  teaches  that  an  evil  disposed  person 
can  at  will  assume  the  form  of  a leopard,  and, 
retaining  all  the  intelligence  and  volition  of 
a human  being,  may  thus  be  able  to  wreak 
spite  against  an  enemy.  Persons  are  found 
murdered  in  lonely  places  with  the  marks  of 
leopard’s  paws  impressed  on  the  sand  or  mud 
in  the  vicinity.  Obviously,  these  marks  are 
the  work  of  the  knuckles  and  fists  of  some 
murderer,  who  escapes  detection  under  the 
prevalent  belief  that  a “man-leopard”  has 


40 


M A WE  DO. 


done  the  deed.  Fear  of  these  brutal  mur- 
ders prevents  natives  from  going  alone  or 
without  a firebrand  on  a dark  night.  Lone- 
ly watchers  at  the  plantation  huts,  particular- 
ly defenceless  women,  are  frequent  victims 
of  such  assaults.  Constant  quarrels  and 
jealousies  leave  scarcely  any  one  without  an 
enemy ; and  as  if  the  poison  of  the  many 
deadly  fruits,  leaves,  and  barks,  known  to  the 
native  magic-doctors  and  capable  of  being 
secretly  infused  into  an  enemy’s  food  or 
drink,  were  not  a sufficiently  safe  or  reliable 
instrument  of  vengeance,  the  pretence  of  the 
“ man-leopard  ” is  sometimes  used  to  cover 
up  a human  being’s  crime. 

But  that  night,  in  Ayenwe’s  garden,  the 
clear  moonlight  gave  no  cover  of  approach 
for  either  devastating  beast  or  murderous  man, 
and  when  the  hours  for  attack  were  past,  she 
sank  into  a short  sleep  before  the  morning 
star  should  herald  the  coming  day. 


VILLAGE  SCENES. 


4i 


IV.  VILLAGE  SCENES. 

When  the  morning  came,  and  cooing, 
twittering,  cawing,  screaming  birds,  with  their 
sudden  sharp  or  united  cries,  startled  the 
sleepers  in  the  plantation  huts,  Ayenwe 
awoke  to  her  daily  work.  Not  briskly,  as 
from  a refreshing  sleep,  or,  like  the  rising 
sun,  rejoicing  as  a strong  man  to  run  a race, 
but  wearily,  from  her  short,  troubled  slumber, 
and  oppressed  with  the  thought  of  the  work 
that  lay  before  her  in  the  village,  and  the  pre- 
parations to  be  made  before  her  return 
thither,  Ayenwe  rose. 

The  native  toilet  is  soon  performed. 
There  was  to  be  flung  aside  and  rolled  up 
the  coarse  “grass-cloth”  mosquito-net.  The 
few  yards  of  the  same  kind  of  cloth,  that  had 
been  Ayenwe’s  day  dress  and  night  covering, 
were  again  to  be  tied  about  her  waist.  A few 

Mawedo.  6 


42 


MAWEDO. 


handfuls  of  water  were  dashed  over  her  own 
face  and  the  faces  of  her  two  children,  and 
then  all  were  wiped  with  an  end  of  the  waist- 
cloth,  used  as  a towel.  Limbs,  stiff  with  ly- 
ing on  the  hard  clay  floor  or  bamboo-split 
settee,  were  stretched,  with  yawns;  the  em- 
bers of  the  smouldering  fire  were  raked  and 
enlivened,  the  inevitable  tobacco-pipe  was 
lighted,  and,  after  a few  whiffs,  the  remains 
of  the  last  night’s  supper  were  divided  with 
the  children,  as  a slight  morning  lunch. 
Then  Aeynwe  gathered  together  the  articles 
necessary  for  her  day’s  work  in  the  village. 

Cassava  shrubs  were  to  be  uprooted  in 
order  to  break  off  their  enormous  tubers,  that 
grow  just  beneath  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
and  are  a very  important  article  of  food  in 
Africa.  The  cassava  or  manioc  is  easily  cul- 
tivated. Pieces  of  stalk  are  planted,  four  feet 
apart,  in  oblong  beds  of  earth  about  three 
feet  broad  and  one  foot  high.  Between  the 
manioc  beds  beans  or  ground-nuts  are  often 


VILLAGE  SCENES. 


43 


sown,  and  when  the  bean  or  nut  crop  is 
reaped,  the  earth  around  the  manioc  is 
weeded,  one  weeding  being  all  that  is  re- 
quired. The  plant  bears  drought  well,  but 
matures  more  rapidly  when  well  supplied  with 
moisture.  In  from  ten  to  twenty-four  months, 
according  to  the  variety  of  manioc  and  the 
nature  of  the  soil,  the  tubers,  which  are  three 
or  four  inches  in  diameter  and  from  twelve 
to  eighteen  inches  long,  are  ready  to  be 
eaten;  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  remove 
them  immediately,  as  they  remain  in  good 
condition  for  three  years.  When  a tuber  is 
taken  up,  a new  crop  is  provided  for  by 
thrusting  a piece  of  the  upper  stalks  into  the 
hole  and  closing  up  the  earth  around  it 
again.  In  rich  soil  the  manioc  attains  a 
height  of  six  feet.  The  tubers  are  not  the 
only  useful  part ; the  stalks  make  good  fuel, 
and  the  leaves,  when  boiled,  are  used  as  a 
vegetable:  There  are  two  varieties  of  mani- 

oc, one  being  sweet  and  wholesome,  while 


44 


MAWEDO. 


the  other,  which  matures  more  rapidly,  and 
for  that  reason  is  extensively  cultivated,  con- 
tains a bitter  and  poisonous  juice  which  needs 
to  be  extracted. 

In  Angola  tapioca  is  prepared  from  the 
manioc  in  the  following  manner.  The  tu- 
bers are  rasped,  and  the  resultant  soft  mass  is 
spread  on  a cloth,  and  rubbed  with  the  hands, 
while  water  is  poured  on  it.  The  starchy, 
glutinous  matter  thus  obtained  is  left  to  set- 
tle in  a vessel ; when  the  settling  is  com- 
pleted the  water  is  poured  off  from  the 
starch,  which  is  exposed  to  the  sun  until 
nearly  dry.  It  is  then  spread  on  an  iron 
plate  and  stirred  while  the  drying  is  com- 
pleted over  a slow  fire,  the  little  agglutinated 
globules  thus  formed  being  the  tapioca  with 
which  we  are  familiar. 

Ayenwe’s  next  business  was  to  cut  a 
bunch  of  plantains  from  one  of  the  huge,  grass- 
like stalks,  which,  crowned  with  long  droop- 
ing leaves,  and  supporting  heavy  bunches  of 


VILLAGE  SCENES. 


45 


fruit,  rose  to  a height  of  from  fifteen  to  twen- 
ty feet.  The  plantain  is  larger,  coarser, 
yellower  and  less  sweet  than  the  ordinary 
banana,  of  which  it  is  a variety,  and  unlike 
the  latter  it  is  rarely  eaten  raw. 

There  were  to  be  plucked  bright  red  pods 
of  the  Cayenne  pepper,  growing  abundantly 
on  the  luxuriant  bushes  that  propagate  them- 
selves in  the  gardens.  Gourds  were  to  be 
gathered,  whose  hard  ripe  rinds  are  used  for 
cups  and  bowls,  and  of  whose  seeds  a rich 
pudding  is  made.  A roll  of  plantain  leaves 
and  a bundle  of  pineapple  leaves  were  to  be 
cut,  and  the  jug  was  to  be  filled  with  water 
from  the  spring. 

All  these  different  articles  were  crowded 
into  Ayenwe’s  basket,  which  was  strapped  to 
her  shoulders  by  a broad  band  passing  over 
her  forehead.  And,  finally,  a log  of  wood 
which  she  had  lifted  to  her  head  was  bal- 
anced with  one  hand,  while  the  other  was 
left  free  for  emergencies. 


46 


MA  WEDO. 


Laden  thus,  Aye n we,  with  her  two  chil- 
dren, returned  to  the  village.  There,  her 
day’s  work  was  the  common  lot  of  woman’s 
household  cares. 

The  manioc  tubers,  after  being  gathered, 
are  set,  in  a basket,  in  a running  stream,  and 
left  there  from  two  to  four  days,  that  the  bit- 
ter, poisonous  juice  may  be  dissolved  out. 
The  tubers,  thus  macerated,  and  already  be- 
ginning to  sour,  are  then  thrown  into  a large 
wooden  trough,  and  beaten  with  a wooden 
pestle,  whose  heavy  thump  is  one  of  the  most 
common  sounds  heard  in  native  huts.  The 
white  starchy  mass,  with  the  broken  woody 
fibres  mixed  through  it,  looks  like  dough.  It 
is  fashioned  rapidly  by  the  women’s  fingers 
into  rolls  a foot  or  more  in  length  and  two 
inches  in  diameter;  these  are  neatly  rolled 
within  plantain  leaves,  and  the  leaves  are  se- 
curely tied.  Then  the  rolls  are  piled  in  a 
large  brass  or  iron  kettle,  into  which  a little 
water  has  been  first  poured,  and  the  kettle  is 


VILLAGE  SCENES. 


47 


tightly  covered  with  plantain  leaves.  The 
kettle  being  set  on  a hot  fire,  the  water  is 
converted  into  steam,  which,  unable  to  escape, 
goes  through  the  mass  of  the  rolls,  bursting 
the  starch  grains,  as  when  hot  water  is 
poured  on  our  tapioca.  This  completes  the 
cooking  of  the  rolls,  and  they  are  ready  to  be 
eaten  with  salt,  pepper,  and  the  soup  of  any 
fish  or  wild  meat.  Cassava,  which  is  some- 
what insipid,  is  not  a perfect  food  by  itself; 
it  does  not  contain  all  the  constituents  neces- 
sary for  the  proper  nourishment  of  mart 
When  eaten  alone  for  any  considerable  time 
it  produces  dyspepsia,  and  sometimes  dim- 
ness of  sight,  effects  which  are  avoided  when 
this  starchy  substance  is  combined  with  oily 
food,  such  as  ground-nuts,  for  instance. 

Plantains  are  peeled,  washed,  cut  into 
pieces,  and  boiled,  like  potatoes,  under  cover. 
Plucked  before  they  are  ripe,  their  starch  has 
not  become  converted  into  sugar,  and  being 
therefore  more  nourishing  than  ripe  raw  ban- 


48 


MAWEDO. 


anas,  they  are  the  principal  article  of  food  of 
most  natives.  The  leaves  of  the  banana  or 
plantain,  which  when  full  grown  are  some- 
times ten  feet  long  and  two  feet  broad,  afford 
a delightful  shade,  and  are  used  not  only  as 
cooking  cloths  and  wrappers  for  parcels,  but 
also  for  thatching  huts;  of  the  stems  fences 
are  sometimes  made,  and  the  fibres  of  the 
stalk  are  used  for  cord.  Mr.  Stanley  tells  us 
that  the  Waganda,  or  people  of  Uganda,  on 
the  nothern  shore  of  the  Victoria  Nyanza 
Lake,  form  the  scraped  pith  of  the  stalk  into 
cakes  which  they  use  as  sponges,  for  wash- 
ing:. The  fishermen  of  the  lake  also  make 
large  shade  hats  of  the  stalk,  and  the  poor 
peasants  make  shields  of  it.  From  another 
variety  of  the  banana,  which  has  a rather  bit- 
ter taste  and  is  unfit  for  food,  wine  and  beer 
are  made. 

The  seeds  of  gourds  are  shelled  with  the 
aid  of  a knife,  or  often  only  by  the  skilful 
use  of  a sharp  finger-nail,  or  even  with  the 


VILLAGE  SCENES. 


49 


teeth ; they  are  pounded  in  a mortar,  or 
pressed  under  a roller,  and  a rich  oily  pud- 
ding is  made  from  the  soft  mass,  fish  being 
incorporated  in  it,  after  the  manner  of  straw- 
berries in  short-cake. 

Cayenne  pepper  enters  largely  into  every 
native  dish,  being  mixed  with  salt  and  lime- 
juice.  The  African  plant  that  yields  it  is  one 
of  the  several  varieties  of  the  genus  Capsi- 
cum, from  which  cayenne  pepper  is  manufac- 
tured by  drying  the  ripe  pods  and  pounding 
them  fine ; frequently  the  ground  pods  are 
mixed  with  wheat  flour  and  made  into  cakes 
with  yeast ; these  cakes  are  first  baked  until 
they  are  hard,  and  then  ground  and  sifted. 
The  cayenne  pepper  or  capsicum  belongs  to 
the  natural  order  Solanacccs , the  same  which 
includes  the  potato  and  tomato  among  its 
genera,  while  the  true  or  black  pepper  is  a 
member  of  the  entirely  different  order — the 
Piperacccs,  whose  fruit  is  a berry,  instead  of 
a pod. 


Mawedo. 


7 


5° 


MAWEDO. 


A favorite  way  of  preparing  fish,  and  in- 
deed any  meat,  is  to  cut  it  into  pieces  and 
securely  enclose  it  in  several  thicknesses  of 
plantain  leaf,  with  salt,  pepper,  bruised  oily 
nuts,  and  a little  water.  This  bundle  (jom- 
ba)  is  laid  on  a bed  of  hot  coals.  Before  the 
heat  has  burned  through  the  many  folds  of 
green  fleshy  leaves,  the  water,  steaming  and 
unable  to  escape,  permeates  the  pieces  of 
flesh,  cooking  them  thoroughly,  and  carrying 
the  aroma  of  the  seasoning  to  the  inner 
fibres,  without  burning  or  scorching.  The 
oily  nuts,  melting  with  the  heat,  make  an 
agreeable  gravy. 

Sewing  is  another  of  the  village  occupa- 
tions. Sometimes  the  cloth  is  of  irregularly 
shaped  pieces  of  beaten  bark  fibre,  derived 
from  a species  of  fig-tree ; but  when  it  is  of 
woven  bamboo-leaf  “grass-cloth,”  or  imported 
cotton  from  England  and  America,  the 
women  bind  the  few  yards  they  may  possess 
with  bright-colored  edging  (mekolwe).  Thread 


VILLAGE  SCENES.  51 

is  obtained  from  the  fibre  of  the  pineapple 
leaf.  The  leaves,  gathered  from  the  plant, 
which  grows  wild,  are  slit  lengthwise,  and 
then,  seized  in  the  left  hand,  are  drawn 
rapidly  between  a knife-edge  and  the  thumb 
of  the  right  hand.  The  fleshy  part  of  the 
leaf  is  scraped  away  by  the  knife ; and  there 
remain  in  the  left  hand  the  thin,  strong,  white 
fibres.  These  fibres  are  used  not  only  for 
sewing,  but  also  for  making  fish-nets. 

Weaving  mats  is  another  occupation. 
They  are  made  from  certain  rushes,  and 
from  the  long,  lance-shaped  leaves  of  the 
palm-like  pandanus,  or  “ screw-pine,”  so  called 
from  the  spiral  arrangement  of  its  branches 
around  the  trunk.  In  a rude  loom,  and  with- 
out any  shuttle,  the  women,  by  hand,  weave 
mats  some  three  feet  in  width  by  five  or  six 
feet  in  length,  making  intricate  designs  of 
straight-lined  figures,  skilfully  carrying  the 
plan  in  their  minds,  without  the  aid  of  a 
pattern  before  them. 


52 


MA  WEDO. 


One  of  the  two  rooms  of  which  an  ordi- 
nary hut  consists  is  occupied  as  the  kitchen 
and  common  sitting-room,  the  other  serving 
as  a sleeping-room.  In  the  middle  of  the 
former,  elevated  above  the  clay  floor,  is  the 
household  fireplace,  whose  smoke,  having  no 
escape  save  by  the  low  door  and  perhaps  a 
window  aperture  or  two,  blackens  the  roof  and 
walls.  From  morning  to  night  some  process 
of  cooking  is  carried  on  by  the  adults,  either 
steaming  cassava,  boiling  or  roasting  plan- 
tains, or  stewing  fish  or  wild  meat.  And 
children  generally  have  some  little  lunch  of 
their  own  to  cook — perhaps  an  ear  of  maize, 
or  some  minnows  they  have  caught  in  the 
river. 

Beyond  the  regular  morning  and  even- 
ing meals  of  the  villagers  themselves,  there 
is  irregular  cooking  for  visitors  from  other 
villages,  and  especially  for  travellers  from 
other  friendly  tribes.  The  host  of  the  village 
is  proud  to  set  before  his  guest  all  his  re- 


VILLAGE  SCENES. 


S3 


sources  of  table  furniture,  in  the  shape  of 
foreign-imported  plates  and  cups,  obtained  in 
exchange  for  ivory  and  ebony;  and  all  the 
service  of  his  house,  his  fire,  and  his  women, 
is  employed  to  make  the  guest  feel,  literally, 
that  the  home  is  his.  But  the  entire  labor 
of  such  entertainment  falls  on  the  women, 
the  master  of  the  house  taking  the  glory  of 
it  in  indolent  dignity,  sitting  and  smoking 
with  his  guest  in  the  public  room  of  the 
village.  Every  woman  in  his  house  feels 
herself,  for  all  purposes  of  hospitality,  a slave. 


54 


MA  WEDO. 


Y.  CHIDDREH’S  PRAYS. 

Days  passed  by  at  Aduma,  and  Ayenwe 
lost  none  of  her  restive  sense  of  servitude. 
Whatever  variety  the  seasons  brought  of 
scene,  or  food,  or  even  amusement,  for  her, 
the  short-lived  pleasure  was  mixed  with  a 
memory  of  pain  that  kept  too  clearly  in  view 
the  fact  that  pain  was  to  return  after  the 
pleasure. 

But  for  Ovanga  the  time  passed  pleasant- 
ly enough.  His  mother’s  master  reckoned 
him  as  one  of  his  own  children,  and  though 
there  was  always  a possibility  that,  in  any 
emergency,  he  might  be  sent  away  as  a slave 
in  payment  of  debt,  he  was  relieved  from 
most  of  the  actual  labors  of  a slave.  The 
master’s  eldest  son  treated  him  as  a younger 
brother,  and  took  him,  as  his  little  valet,  on 
most  of  his  hunting  and  fishing,  and  other 


CHILDREN'S  PL  A VS. 


55 

excursions  into  the  forest.  The  labor  that 
Ovanga  had  to  perform  on  these  expeditions 
was  slight,  and  the  free  camp-life  was  attrac- 
tive to  him.  Such  occasions  he  regarded 
as  holidays.  Indeed,  for  him  every  day  was 
a play-day,  even  in  the  village.  Aside  from 
the  lighting  of  his  master’s  pipe,  waiting  on 
his  master’s  table,  and  other  slight  services, 
much  of  the  time  was  spent  in  play  with  the 
other  boys,  slave  and  free,  in  the  village 
street.  There  were  bows  and  arrows,  and 
tops,  and  boats,  and  bowling  of  wheels,  to 
interest  them. 

Bows  are  made  from  any  elastic  stick, 
the  string  being  cither  the  strong  fibres  of 
the  pineapple  leaf,,  or  the  rattan-like  inner 
bark  of  a palm  that  grows  as  a vine,  running 
for  hundreds  of  feet  over  the  tree-tops.  Ar- 
rows are  splints  of  the  common  bamboo-palm 
like  those  used  by  the  boys’  fathers  and  bro- 
thers. The  men  use  powerful  cross-bows,  dif- 
ficult to  bend,  and  their  arrows,  in  hunting 


56 


MA  WEDO. 


wild  animals,  are  tipped  with  poison.  But 
the  bows  and  arrows  of  the  boys’  play  are 
harmless  against  life,  though,  in  their  mis- 
chief, they  torture  the  goats  and  fowls  in 
the  streets  by  launching  their  random  shots 
at  them.  Against  the  small  birds  that  ap- 
proach the  banana  stalks  in  the  little  gardens 
in  the  rear  of  the  houses,  even  the  small 
bamboo  arrows  are  likely  to  be  fatal.  The 
practice  thus  obtained  is  a good  education 
for  the  use  of  the  more  powerful  bows  which 
the  boys  have  to  handle  when  they  become 
men. 

Tops  are  frequently  made  from  soft  fruits 
by  simply  thrusting  a stick  through  them ; 
they  are  twirled  by  the  thumb  and  finger.  In 
the  season  of  a certain  nut,  however,  the 
“kula”  tops  are  played  by  both  men  and 
boys,  and  great  excitement  often  attends  the 
game.  A mat  is  spread  on  the  ground,  and 
the  players,  in  pairs,  pitted  against  each  other 
like  gamesters,  fling  the  round  nuts  on  the 


CHILDREN'S  PLAYS. 


57 


mat,  the  revolution  being  given  by  a peculiar 
twist  of  both  thumbs  and  forefingers.  As 
the  two  balls  whirl  around  in  curves  whose 
orbits  intersect  each  other,  the  excited  play- 
ers call  to  their  respective  tops,  as  though 
they  were  living  creatures.  And  when  one 
of  the  two  balls  finally  strikes  the  other  and 
puts  it  out  of  its  course,  the  successful  colli- 
sion is  hailed  with  a shout. 

A wheel,  from  six  to  twelve  inches  in  di- 
ameter, and  three  inches  in  thickness,  is 
carved  out  of  the  enormous  turnip-shaped  tu- 
ber of  a certain  convolvulus.  Then  the  boys 
arrange  themselves  in  line  along  a level  piece 
of  ground,  holding  in  their  hands  long,  thin, 
pointed  sticks,  poised  as  spears.  One  of  the 
company  bowls  the  wheel  past  the  line,  and 
as  it  rolls  along,  each  one  hurls  his  spear  at 
its  centre.  It  rolls  on  with  the  spears  stick- 
ing out  from  its  centre  as  a hub.  The  game 
is  exciting;  and  it  gives  accuracy  of  aim, 

promptness,  and  agility,  which  come  into  re- 

8 


Maweilo. 


53 


MA  WEDO. 


quisition  in  after  life,  in  the  use  of  the  spear 
against  elephants  in  the  forests,  and  of  the 
harpoon  against  the  hippopotami  in  the  riv- 
ers. 

Boats  are  carved  by  the  boys  with  their 
knives  from  a wood  that,  when  fresh,  is  very 
soft,  but  which  hardens  in  drying.  As  the 
villages  are  situated  on  the  very  edge  of 
streams,  at  almost  any  hour  of  the  day  boys 
may  be  seen  wading  in  the  shallows,  with 
their  tiny  canoes  or  boats  floating  down  the 
current.  Occasionally  an  eddy  will  carry  a 
vessel  out  into  deep  water,  when  the  owner 
swims  to  the  rescue.  The  boys’  eyes  and 
hands,  in  thus  fashioning  the  outlines  of  toy 
canoes,  obtain  a degree  of  accuracy  and  skill 
for  making  the  larger  vessels  which  they  are 
to  navigate  in  adult  years. 


FISHING . 


59 


VI.  FISHING. 

Fishing  was  daily  carried  on  in  Ayenwe’s 
village  by  both  men  and  women.  For  daily 
necessities  a few  stray  fish  were  caught  by 
hook,  or  dip-net,  or  speared  at  night  by  the 
light  of  a torch.  But  the  great  supply,  which 
taxed  the  labor  and  skill  of  the  entire  village 
in  catching  and  drying,  was  obtained  in  the 
three  months  of  the  cool  dry  season. 

The  central  belt  of  Africa,  comprising 
the  region  included  between  ten  degrees 
north  and  ten  degrees  south  of  the  equator, 
has,  generally,  two  rainy  and  two  dry  sea- 
sons. The  heavy  rains  of  the  wet  months 
swell  all  rivers  and  streams  beyond  their 
bounds,  and  flood  the  low  grounds.  Back, 
up  into  the  lagoons  and  ravines  among  the 
hills,  the  waters  rise,  and  the  fish  from  the 
main  streams  congregate  in  these  new  open- 


6o 


MAWEDO. 


ings  to  feast  on  the  fresh  grasses  and  the 
abundant  insect  life.  As  the  waters  begin  to 
recede,  the  women  build  barriers  across  the 
mouths  of  the  rivers  and  lagoons.  These 
barriers  are  skilfully  made  of  a light  fence- 
work  of  saplings  thrust  into  the  bottom  of 
the  stream,  and  strengthened  by  intertwined 
vines.  Over  these  is  tied  a matting  of  bam- 
boo leaves,  or  the  broader,  but  less  durable 
leaf  of  the  Phrynium.  This  temporary  dam 
is  too  weak  to  resist  the  rush  or  sudden  pres- 
sure of  a body  of  water.  But  in  this  weak- 
ness consists  the  dam’s  usefulness,  for  the 
waters,  in  subsiding,  find  no  difficulty  in  per- 
colating through  the  leafy  wall,  which  yet 
presents  no  aperture  large  enough  for  the  es- 
cape of  the  fish. 

Such  occasions,  laborious  as  they  are  to 
a few  who  have  charge  of  the  dam  building, 
bring,  in  the  end,  a time  of  riotous  enjoyment 
for  them  and  for  the  many  who  come  in  at 
the  lighter  end  of  the  work — a time  of 


FISHING. 


61 


hilarity  for  the  whole  village,  and  especially 
for  the  children,  to  whom  it  is  a long  feast. 

An  advanced  party  of  women  and  a few 
men  having  built  the  dam,  the  rains  having 
finally  ceased,  and  the  waters  beginning  to 
subside,  the  entire  village  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  leaving  only  two  or  three  to  guard 
the  premises,  temporarily  emigrate  to  the  for- 
est, near  the  body  of  water  enclosed  by  the 
dam.  They  carry  with  them  their  cooking 
utensils,  mat-bedding,  mosquito-nets,  guns, 
and  other  implements  of  camp-life.  There 
being  no  danger  of  drenching  rains,  the  oc- 
casional slight  dry-season  drizzles  (menyenge) 
call  for  no  better  protection  than  is  afforded 
by  the  green  branches  of  trees,  cut  daily  and 
spread  as  roofing  over  the  booths  (maka)  that 
are  hastily  erected  in  the  camps  (ulaks). 
The  huts  are  literally  booths,  the  sides  being 
entirely  unclosed,  open  to  the  cool  night  air, 
and  with  no  privacy  other  than  that  afforded 
by  the  thin  walls  of  the  mosquito-nets.  The 


62 


MA  WE  DO. 


constant  camp-fires  at  night  keep  away  wild 
beasts. 

When  the  waters  sink  so  low  that  they 
can  no  longer  drain  themselves  off,  but  stand, 
a motionless  pond,  all  the  women,  with  ket- 
tles and  gourds  and  baling  vessels  of  any 
description,  wade  into  the  pool  and  labo- 
riously bail  out  as  much  water  as  they  can, 
throwing  it  over  the  dam.  This  is  a pain- 
ful and  sometimes  dangerous  operation.  The 
heads  of  the  workers  are  exposed  to  a broil- 
ing sun,  while  their  lower  limbs  are  im- 
mersed in  cold  water;  their  feet  are  cut  by 
sharp  sticks  or  stones,  or  stunned  by  electric 
fish,  or  wounded  by  fish-spines;  and  their 
backs  are  wearied  with  bending  backwards 
and  forwards  as  they  dip  out  the  water.  The 
quantity  of  water  having  thus  been  reduced, 
the  entire  camp — men,  women,  and  children — 
rush  in,  and  with  scoops,  hand-nets,  and  bas- 
kets lift  out  the  fish,  which  are  crowded  to- 
gether in  an  excited,  helpless  mass  in  the 


FISHING. 


63 


contracted  pools.  This  work  is  carried  al- 
most to  the  point  of  exterminating  the  entire 
stock  of  fish  in  that  part  of  the  river.  In 
the  case  of  small  branches  of  rivers,  they  are 
readily  and  naturally  re-stocked  a few  months 
later  by  the  streams  rising  with  returning 
rains.  But  in  the  case  of  lakes  and  small 
ponds,  the  natives  observe  the  necessity,  after 
such  destructive  draughts,  of  not  draining 
the  same  water  in  successive  years,  but  allow 
the  stock  to  increase  undisturbed  each  alter- 
nate year. 

As  each  mother  or  sister  returns  ashore 
with  bag,  or  pan,  or  basket  full  of  struggling 
fish,  she  is  met  by  the  little  boys  and  girls, 
who,  at  the  edges  of  the  pond,  have  been 
snatching  at  isolated  fish  which,  hunted  in 
the  centre,  had  fled  towards  the  shore.  All 
this  is  play  to  the  children,  and  they  join  the 
successful  parent  or  sister,  aid  in  carrying 
her  burdens,  quickly  open  and  clean  the  fish, 
and  gather  wood  for  the  fires  over  which  the 


64 


MA  WEDO. 


fish  are  to  be  dried.  Light  scaffolds  are 
erected  on  which  the  fish  are  spread  out,  and 
underneath  is  kindled  a fire  of  wood  whose 
state  of  half-decay  prevents  its  blazing,  but 
keeps  up  that  constant  smoke  best  suited  for 
a drying-place. 

It  is  a most  animated  scene,  resounding 
with  the  shouts  of  the  women  in  the  deeper 
parts  of  the  pond,  as  they  excitedly  thrust 
their  baskets  among  the  massed  fishes,  the 
splashing  of  the  water  by  the  cordon  of  men, 
who  beat  fugitive  fish  back  to  the  centre, 
and  the  songs  of  rejoicing  children ; and  all 
this  varied  by  the  screams  of  shore-parties 
disputing  over  the  division  of  the  spoil. 

At  night  the  work  ceases,  except  around 
the  numerous  drying-places,  whose  dull  fires 
weirdly  light  up  the  surrounding  forest. 
When  all  have  feasted  on  the  evening  meal, 
the  usual  dance  begins,  and  women  who  in 
the  day  seem  unable  to  work  through  excess 
of  fatigue,  forget  their  weariness  in  the  ex- 


FISHING.  65 

citement  and  revelry  of  the  favorite  amuse- 
ment. 

At  these  semi-annual  dryings  a whole 
week  is  spent  at  the  camp,  and  thousands  of 
fish  are  dried  and  stored  in  crates,  which, 
being  taken  to  the  village,  are  suspended 
from  the  roofs  of  the  huts,  over  the  fireplaces, 
for  use  during  the  subsequent  rainy  season. 


Mawedo. 


9 


66 


MA  WEDO. 


YII.  HUNTING. 

A native  African  occupation  in  which 
the  men  are  leaders,  but  in  which  women 
participate  and  children  find  an  excitement, 
is  the  hunting  of  wild  animals.  This  is  ac-. 
complished  by  entangling  the  smaller  ones  in 
nets,  and  enclosing  the  larger  ones,  such  as 
elephants,  in  a fence. 

Elephants,  like  other  wild  animals,  large 
and  small,  are  hunted  singly  or  in  companies. 
But  the  capture  of  an  entire  herd  is  a won- 
derful feat  whose  initial  step  is  an  accident. 
The  women,  in  regularly  guarding  their  plan- 
tations at  night,  and  in  occasionally  weeding 
them  by  day,  may  come  suddenly  on  a troop 
of  five,  ten,  twenty  or  more  elephants  feeding 
on  the  succulent  cassava.  Without  alarming 
the  animals  the  women  hastily  flee  to  the  vil- 
lages, and,  summoning  the  men,  return  with 


HUNTING. 


67 


other  women,  bearing  flaming  torches.  These 
torch-bearers  surround  the  quietly  feeding 
troop  of  elephants,  which,  dazed  by  the 
lights,  do  not  attempt  to  flee,  but  with  amaz- 
ing stupidity  stand  and  look  at  the  fiery  bar- 
rier. The  men  meanwhile  rapidly  cut  down 
vines  and  llianes,  which  grow  in  profusion 
everywhere,  and,  tying  them  from  tree  to 
tree  at  a distance  from  the  animals,  enclose 
them  in  a circle  embracing  several  acres  of 
ground.  Messengers  have  promptly  been 
sent  to  all  the  adjacent  villages,  whose  every 
available  inhabitant,  young  and  old,  male  and 
female,  hastes  to  the  scene.  After  a few  par- 
allel rows  of  vines,  like  telegraph  lines,  have 
encircled  the  space,  from  four  to  eight  feet 
above  the  ground,  the  anxious  cordon  of 
torch-bearers  retire  from  their  dangerous  po- 
sition, and  scatter  through  the  crowd  of  new- 
comers, now  gathered  all  around  the  circum- 
ference of  the  circle,  which  hastily  added  par- 
allel lines  of  vines  are  making  every  moment 


68 


MAWEDO. 


more  distinctly  an  enclosure.  But  however 
closely  the  lines  of  vines  may  be  tied,  the  bar- 
rier would  be  but  a spider’s  web  to  the  great 
brutes  now  wandering  anxiously  around  in- 
side, if  they  only  knew  their  own  strength. 
Intelligent  as  the  elephant  is  known  to  be,  it 
is  possible  that  the  African  species  may  not 
be  equal  to  his  Asiatic  brother,  or  that  there 
may  be  a difference  in  the  three  African  va- 
rieties. At  all  events,  all  elephants  are  wary 
of  signs  of  pitfalls,  or  any  other  strategem, 
and,  mystified  by  the  sight  of  the  network 
around  them,  they  avoid  it,  as  if  it  were  a 
trap;  or  if  they  approach  it  too  closely,  they 
are  driven  back  by  the  shouts  and  missiles  of 
the  crowd  outside.  If  in  retreating  from  any 
point,  they  rush  across  the  area  too  near  to 
the  enclosure  on  the  opposite  side,  the  crowd 
there  also  drive  them  back. 

All  this  while  men,  with  hatchets  and 
axes  and  swords  and  knives,  are  cutting 
down  saplings  and  thrusting  them  into  the 


HUNTING . 


69 


ground  along  the  enclosing  lines.  Thicker 
and  stronger  pickets  and  posts  and  but- 
tresses are  added  daily  and  nightly  by  relays 
of  working  parties,  until  so  stout  a fence  is 
built  that  only  a violent  rush  of  the  animals 
can  break  it  down.  Any  such  rush  is 
guarded  against  by  chosen  watchers ; and 
hundreds  of  loaded  muskets  are  ready  at  a 
warning  to  repel  such  an  attempt  at  escape. 
These  muskets  are  very  cheap  flint-locks,  im- 
ported from  England  and  bartered  for  ivory, 
ebony  and  other  exports.  Though  loaded 
with  broken  pieces  of  iron,  brass,  and  other 
slugs,  their  aim  is  so  inaccurate,  and  the 
powder  used  is  so  weak,  that  they  are  incapa- 
ble of  killing  an  elephant  at  a single  shot. 
Lest,  therefore,  the  animals  become  infuriated 
by  wounds,  and  break  away,  the  crowd  out- 
side of  the  enclosure  refrain  from  firing  on 
them  until  certain  superstitious  ceremonies 
of  the  native  magic-doctor  are  completed,  by 
which,  it  is  claimed,  accuracy  and  efficiency 


7° 


MA IVEDO. 


will  be  secured  for  the  guns  when,  on  a given 
day,  the  entire  crowd  shall  be  ordered  to 
shoot  down  their  prisoners.  The  necessity 
for  despatching  all  the  animals  on  that  given 
day  rests  on  the  custom  that  forbids  any  one 
of  the  slaughtered  beasts  to  be  cut  to  pieces 
and  divided  until  the  whole  troop  has  been 
killed.  This  is  to  prevent  quarrels  and  in- 
equality in  the  distribution.  Every  pound  of 
the  flesh  that  is  not  needed  immediately  for 
food  is  dried  for  future  use.  And  the  ivory 
is  exchanged  for  the  wealth  of  foreign  arti- 
cles with  which  women  and  slaves  may  be 
bought. 

During  the  interim  of  sometimes  two 
■weeks,  while  the  doctor  is  making  his  incan- 
tations, the  elephants  feed  on  the  herbage 
and  branches  of  trees  included  in  the  enclo- 
sure. And  if  none  of  the  frequent  forest 
springs  and  rivulets  happen  to  be  in  its 
limits,  water  is  brought.  Also  fresh  grasses 
are  supplied ; and  plantains  and  bananas, 


HUNTING. 


7i 

soaked  in  a certain  poisonous  drug,  are 
thrown  to  the  elephants,  which  seem  to  be 
stupefied  by  the  drug,  so  that  during  their 
confinement  they  wander  docilely  and  quietly 
until  the  day  appointed  for  their  slaughter. 
During  all  this  delay  the  crowd  of  men, 
women,  and  children  come  and  go  to  and 
from  their  villages,  where  they  procure  their 
food ; they  sleep  around  the  enclosure  in 
temporary  booths.  It  is  a time  for  excited 
watching,  idle  waiting,  family  intrigues,  in- 
creased labor  for  the  women  in  preparing 
food  for  the  unusual  crowd,  and  unrestricted 
freedom  for  the  children  in  the  liberty  of  the 
forest. 

On  the  appointed  day  daring  hunters, 
who  have  previously  availed  themselves  of 
favorable  opportunities  for  entering  the  en- 
closure, and,  climbing  suitable  trees,  have 
tied  comfortable  rests  for  themselves  in 
crotches  of  the  branches,  take  their  positions. 
The  crowd  outside  open  fire  on  the  now  half- 


72  MA  WE  DO. 

famished  and  weakened  beasts,  which,  as 
they  flee  from  point  to  point,  pass  under  or 
near  the  hunters’  trees,  and  are  fired  on  by 
them  from  above,  fatal  points  in  the  back  of 
the  skull  and  nape  of  the  neck  being  thus 
attainable. 

In  this  wild  slaughter  sometimes  a fren- 
zied male,  desperate  with  wounds,  bursts 
through  every  barrier,  and,  treading  down 
the  opposing  crowd,  escapes  into  the  forest, 
leaving  the  crushed  forms  of  human  beings 
in  his  path. 

Notwithstanding  the  dangers  connected 
with  this  mode  of  hunting  elephants,  the  en- 
tire population  of  a neighborhood  gravitates 
to  any  such  enclosure  to  share  in  the  final 
feast,  which  is  held  the  day  after  the  last  ani- 
mal falls.  As  it  falls,  wild  shouts  of  victory 
are  sent  out,  the  gates  of  the  enclosure  are 
thrown  open,  the  multitudes  surge  in,  and 
dance  in  exultation  around  the  fallen  beasts. 
The  doctor,  with  the  chiefs,  and  the  family 


HUNTING. 


73 


on  whose  ground  the  enclosure  was  built, 
and  especially  the  household  whose  women 
first  discovered  the  animals,  in  council  decide 
as  to  the  division  of  the  tusks,  and  the  share 
of  the  flesh  to  be  given  to  the  crowd  of  out- 
siders. The  next  day  the  tusks  are  removed, 
and  each  family  represented  in  the  assem- 
blage cuts  up  and  distributes  the  flesh.  Then 
follows  a busy  scene.  Those  members  of 
the  tribe  who  come  from  a distance,  hasten 
away  with  their  share  to  their  villages. 
Those  living  near  sit  down  to  feast  to  their 
satisfaction,  drying,  for  future  use,  what  is 
left. 

Less  dangerous,  and  therefore  less  exci- 
ting, but  more  remunerative,  as  a constancy, 
because  a more  frequently  practicable  mode 
of  hunting,  is  the  use  of  nets  for  gazelles, 
porcupines,  and  other  small  animals.  Men 
with  their  guns,  and  women  bearing  great 
bundles  of  coarse  nets  made  from  the  soft 
inner  bark  of  a certain  tree,  go  out  into  the 


Mawedo. 


io 


74 


MA IVEDO. 


forest  at  favorable  hours,  accompanied  by 
small  mongrel  dogs.  The  nets  having  been 
tied  upright  to  trees  in  two  long  lines  which 
converge  to  an  acute  angle,  the  men  form  a 
line  subtending  this  angle,  and,  hanging  little 
bells  to  the  dogs’  necks,  systematically  beat 
the  low  bushes.  As  the  hunters  advance, 
any  enclosed  small  animals  are  driven  to- 
wards the  angle,  behind  which  women  are 
waiting  to  intercept  attempts  at  escape,  and 
where  the  dogs  finally  run  the  affrighted  lit- 
tle creatures  down.  The  men  close  in  upon 
them,  and  secure  their  struggling  victims. 

A trap  similar  to  this,  and  called  “ hopo,” 
is  described  by  Dr.  Livingstone  as  in  use 
among  the  Bale  wains,  twenty-five  degrees 
south  of  the  equator.  It  is  employed  by 
them  for  the  destruction  of  such  large  game 
as  the  larger  antelopes,  zebras,  buffaloes, 
giraffes,  and  even  rhinoceroses.  The  hedges 
are  made  about  a mile  long,  and  the  same 
distance  apart  at  the  wider  extremity;  in- 


HUNTING. 


75 


stead  of  joining  at  the  angle,  they  terminate 
in  a line  fifty  yards  long,  at  the  end  of  which 
a large  pit,  six  or  eight  feet  deep,  and  twelve 
or  fifteen  in  length  and  breadth,  is  securely 
bordered  by  overlapping  trunks  of  trees,  and 
covered  with  rushes.  The  hunters  make  a 
circle  three  or  four  miles  around  the  country, 
and  generally  enclose  and  drive  between  the 
hedges  a great  number  of  animals,  many  of 
which,  falling  into  the  pit  at  the  end  of  the 
lane,  are  smothered,  or  pierced  by  the  hun- 
ters’ javelins,  though  some  make  their  escape 
by  running  over  their  heaped -up  com- 
rades. 

Another  mode  of  hunting,  less  frequently 
practised,  is  to  dig  pitfalls,  the  earth  being 
carefully  carried  away  to  a distance,  to  avoid 
arousing  the  suspicions  of  the  wild  animals, 
and  the  pit  being  covered  with  light  branch- 
es, over  which  dead  forest  leaves  are  natu- 
rally spread.  In  these  pits  are  caught  ante- 
lopes, hippopotami,  and  even  elephants — the 


76 


MA  WE  DO. 


narrow  space  not  giving  them  room  to  extri- 
cate themselves. 

Daring  hunters  also  sometimes  lie  in  wait 
near  the  path  that  the  hippopotami  regularly 
tread  for  themselves  in  coming  out  of  the 
river  for  their  nightly  forage  on  the  grasses 
and  gardens  ashore. 

After  all  such  successful  hunts  the  voices 
of  the  children  in  the  Aduma  village  sounded 
highest  in  the  loud  and  long  songs  of  joy  and 
triumph  that  welcomed  home  the  women, 
bringing  the  butchered  animals  in  baskets  on 
their  backs,  or,  if  small,  suspended  from  a 
pole  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  two. 


RUBBER  GATHERING. 


77 


YIII.  RUBBER  GATHERING. 

One  of  the  important  products  of  the 
Ogowe  country  is  the  caoutchouc,  gathered 
in  the  forests,  and  given  in  exchange  for  the 
foreign  hardware,  crockery,  cloth,  guns  and 
powder,  that  reach  the  interior,  after  being 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  by  the  native  com- 
mission traders,  who  deal  with  the  white  men 
hundreds  of  miles  down  the  river. 

It  is  a day  of  great  rejoicing  when  a com- 
pany of  A-ka-nda,  or  other  lower-river  people, 
come  semi-annually  with  bundles  of  these 
goods,  which  they  have  received  through  the 
hands  of,  successively,  Ga-lwas  and  Mpo- 
ngwes,  who  themselves  received  them  direct- 
ly from  the  hands  of  the  white  clerk  at  the 
trading-house  or  “ Factory  ” near  the  seaside. 
Each  of  the  parties  through  whose  hands  the 
goods  pass  retains  a portion  as  a “ nyeno,”  or 


7s 


MAWEDO. 


commission.  Only  a small  portion  of  the 
goods  finally  reaches  the  terminus  of  the  in- 
terior tribe  which  actually  does  the  work  of 
collecting  the  rubber.  The  percentage  that 
is  added  to  the  price  of  the  goods  every  time 
they  change  hands  causes  them  to  represent 
a quantity  of  rubber  great  inversely  as  the 
goods  themselves  become  fewer. 

Such  a day  came  to  the  inhabitants  of 
Aduma.  A company  of  Akanda  people, 
after  being  riotously  welcomed  at  the  water- 
side, marched  up  the  long  street  of  the  vil- 
lage, bearing  bundles  and  wooden  chests  to 
the  house  of  the  native  chief.  The  visitors 
brought  gin  and  rum  among  their  foreign 
treasures,  and  these  were  at  once  distributed 
by  the  chief  to  the  gathered  crowd  of  his 
people,  and  the  evening  and  most  of  the 
night  was  spent  in  dances  and  songs  of  wel- 
come. 

Next  day,  before  admiring  and  covetous 
eyes,  the  chests  and  bundles  were  opened, 


RUBBER  GATHERING.  79 

and  the  chief,  appropriating  them  as  his  per- 
sonal property,  divided  them  out  on  shares  to 
his  principal  men.  One  of  these,  his  eldest 
son,  who  exercised  special  control  of  Ova- 
nga,  gathered  his  share,  and  advancing,  as 
part  payment,  rubber  that  he  had  collected 
on  a previous  journey,  made  preparations  for 
another  excursion  into  the  forest. 

After  the  visitors  had  gone,  the  chief’s 
son,  taking  his  gun,  and  laying  in  the  hands 
of  Ovanga,  now  about  seven  years  old,  a lit- 
tle bundle  of  food,  burdened  his  own  women 
and  adult  slaves  with  a week’s  provisions, 
and,  accompanied  by  a few  men,  his  chosen 
companions  of  the  village,  started  on  a day’s 
journey  into  the  heart  of  the  forest,  to  camp 
in  some  new  spot  where  the  rubber  had  not 
been  cut  over. 

Rubber  camps  involve  more  labor  and 
are  less  safe  than  fish  camps.  In  the  former 
the  party  often  sleep  out  in  the  open  air, 
sharing  with  myriad  forms  of  busy  insect  and 


8o 


MAWEDO. 


loathsome  reptile  life  the  shelter  afforded  by 
the  dense  vegetation  of  the  tropical  forest, 
into  which  the  rays  of  sunlight  penetrate  but 
dimly.  Far  from  a base  of  supplies,  food  is 
rationed  out;  and,  as  the  days  are  spent  in 
roaming  the  forest  and  collecting  the  white 
rubber-milk,  there  is  not  the  time  for  play 
that  children  generally  find  about  other 
camps. 

India-rubber,  or  caoutchouc,  so  called 
from  the  name,  cahoutchou , given  to  it  by 
the  South  American  Indians  in  Guiana,  is 
the  coagulated  milky  juice  of  a number  of 
trees  and  shrubs  found  in  Mexico,  Central 
and  South  America,  the  East  Indies,  Africa, 
and  Australia,  and  belonging  chiefly  to  the 
natural  orders  Euphorbiacecz , Moracece,  Ar- 
tocavpacecz , and  Apocynacece.  The  juice  is 
contained  chiefly  in  a network  of  minute  ves- 
sels in  the  middle  bark  of  the  plants,  though 
in  the  last-named  order  it  is  found  in  the 
inner  bark  also.  The  minute,  transparent 


RUBBER  GATHERING.  81 

caoutchouc  globules  appear  to  be  held  in 
suspension  in  the  juice  by  means  of  ammo- 
nia, for  the  fresh  juice  yields  in  many  cases  a 
strong  ammoniacal  odor,  and  ammonia  add- 
ed to  the  juice  will  keep  it  from  coagulating 
when  it  is  necessary  to  transport  it  undried 
for  any  distance.  The  best  rubber  is  ob- 
tained from  recently-strained  juice  that  is 
carefully  evaporated  at  a moderate  heat. 
Besides  the  elastic  substance  the  milk  con- 
tains an  oxydized,  viscid,  resinous  substance, 
which,  unlike  the  former,  is  soluble  in  alco- 
hol. The  caoutchouc  is  valuable  in  propor- 
tion to  the  small  quantity  of  the  resinous 
substance  contained  in  it,  and  rapid  evapora- 
tion tends  to  prevent  its  formation.  The 
rubber  which  comes  from  Para  in  Brazil 
being  freest  from  it,  partly,  it  is  probable, 
because  most  carefully  prepared,  is  esteemed 
the  best,  while  the  African  varieties,  which 
generally  contain  more  of  it,  are  less  valuable. 

In  Africa,  which,  next  to  South  America, 
1 1 


Blaweilo. 


82 


MA  IVEDO. 


exports  the  greatest  quantity  of  rubber,  caout- 
chouc-producing plants  are  found  throughout 
the  equatorial  regions,  the  rubber  being  ex- 
ported chiefly  from  the  Gaboon,  Congo,  and 
Benguela  on  the  west  coast,  and  Madagascar, 
Mozambique,  and  Mauritius  on  the  east. 
Climbing  plants  of  several  species  and  gene- 
ra are  the  chief  sources  of  its  supply,  though 
in  Liberia  the  finest  rubber  is  obtained  from 
a tall  tree. 

The  presence  of  caoutchouc  in  a plant  is 
shown  by  an  incision  in  the  bark  yielding  a 
milky  juice  which  coagulates  into  elastic  fibre 
on  being  rubbed  with  the  fingers.  The  dried 
bark  of  rubber-yielding  plants  will  show, 
when  broken,  silky  fibres  uniting  the  frac- 
tured surfaces ; these  fibres  can  be  stretched 
for  some  distance  without  breaking. 

India-rubber  was  long  ago  applied  by  the 
natives  of  the  West  Indies  to  one  of  the  uses 
for  which  it  is  now  in  greatest  demand.  A 
Spaniard,  named  Herrera,  who  accompanied 


RUBBER  GATHERING.  83 

Columbus  on  his  second  voyage  to  the  New 
World,  mentions,  in  a book  written  in  the 
early  part  of  the  sixteenth  century,  that  he 
saw  the  people  of  Hayti  playing  with  balls 
made  of  the  gum  of  a tree,  and  that,  though 
the  balls  were  large,  they  were  lighter  and 
bounced  better  than  “ the  wind-balls  of  Cas- 
tile.” This  is  the  earliest  notice  of  india- 
rubber  on  record.  Another  Spaniard,  Tor- 
quemada,  in  a book  published  at  Madrid  in 
1615,  speaks  of  a tree  called  by  the  Mexican 
Indians  Ulequahuitt,  valued  for  the  gum 
which  it  yielded,  and  which  the  Spaniards 
applied  to  their  cloaks  to  render  them  water- 
proof, though  the  substance  apparently  at- 
tracted no  attention  in  Europe.  French  sci- 
entists in  the  eighteenth  century  drew  the 
attention  of  Europe  to  the  South  American 
caoutchouc-trees,  and  pieces  of  rubber,  sold 
at  three  shillings  a cubical  half-inch,  began 
to  be  used  in  England  for  erasing  pencil- 
marks  in  the  latter  part  of  that  century;  but 


84 


MAWEDO. 


it  was  not  until  the  beginning  of  the  present 
century  that  the  india-rubber  industry  really 
commenced.  Since  then  it  has  grown  so 
rapidly  that  the  demand  for  the  best  kinds  of 
rubber  is  in  excess  of  the  supply,  though 
caoutchouc  plants  are  found  throughout  a 
vast  belt  of  the  earth,  embracing  at  least  five 
hundred  miles  on  both  sides  the  equator. 

The  caoutchouc-vine  of  the  Ogowe  coun- 
try is  sometimes  several  inches  thick  at  its 
base,  and  runs  for  hundreds  of  feet  up  trees 
and  over  tree-tops.  The  collectors  climb  the 
trees,  tear  down  the  vines,  and  then  ruthlessly 
cut  them  off  at  their  base,  close  to  the  earth. 
This  reckless  process  kills  them  from  the 
root.  The  whole  length  of  the  vine  is  cut 
into  pieces  about  sixteen  inches  long,  and 
these  are  stood  leaning  in  troughs,  that  the 
white  viscous  sap  may  more  rapidly  bleed 
out.  This  milky  sap  is  then  slightly  boiled, 
a little  salt  being  cast  into  it,  to  assist  in  the 
separation  of  the  gummy  and  watery  por- 


RUBBER  GATHERING.  85 

tions.  The  gum  precipitates  as  a thick 
cream,  and  the  supernatant  water  is  drawn 
off.  The  gum  is  then  poured  out  into 
moulds,  a few  inches  long,  or  is,  by  hand, 
rolled  into  balls  two  inches  in  diameter.  It 
soon  hardens  sufficiently  to  bear  handling. 
It  is  kept  wet,  water  being  daily  thrown  over 
it,  as  it  lies  in  a pile,  or  buried  in  a hole  in 
the  ground,  or  tied  up  in  light  rattan  crates. 
There  are  several  plants,  besides  the  proper 
vines,  that  exude  a viscous  juice  with  which 
the  caoutchouc  is  adulterated.  The  gum,  as 
it  is  finally  brought  to  the  villages,  paid  to 
the  Akanda  or  other  visitors  at  their  next 
semi-annual  trip,  and  by  them  passed  on  to 
the  coast  by  the  same  Galwa  and  Mpongwe 
hands  through  which  the  white  man’s  goods 
are  transmitted,  has  lost  its  original  white- 
ness, being  mixed  with  sand  and  sticks,  and 
blackened  with  the  smoke  of  the  huts  in 
which  the  crates  have  been  hanging. 


86 


MA  IVEDO. 


IX.  THE  CAPTURE. 

In  the  enjoyment  of  childish  pastimes 
and  the  performance  of  such  light  labors  as 
devolve  upon  children  in  connection  with  the 
securing  of  fish  and  wild  animals,  and  the 
gathering  of  rubber,  Ovanga  passed  a com- 
paratively happy  time. 

One  day,  however,  his  young  master  took 
him  on  a rubber-gathering  expedition  from 
which  they  never  returned. 

The  interior  of  Africa  is  filled  with  petty 
wars  and  quarrels,  and  seizures  and  reprisals 
for  debt,  theft,  and  other  crimes.  There  is 
no  central  authority,  as  of  a king,  even  in 
any  one  tribe ; much  less  is  there  any  gen- 
eral rule  over  the  numerous  small  tribes  into 
which  the  people  of  the  region  are  divided. 
Only  in  the  separate  villages  is  there  any 
recognized  power,  namely,  that  of  the  “chief,” 


THE  CAPTURE. 


87 


one  whom  years  and  wisdom  and  strength  of 
character  raise  in  the  estimation  of  his  own 
immediate  family  and  slaves,  and  thus  give 
him  a certain  degree  of  authority.  But  no 
one  chief  has  authority  over  other  chiefs. 
One  of  them  may  have  influence  over  the 
others  simply  by  reason  of  personal  magnet- 
ism, but  not  because  of  any  real  right  that 
is  vested  in  him  by  election,  appointment,  or 
heredity.  Thus  might  makes  right,  and  who- 
ever has  a strong  arm  and  imperious  will 
pushes  his  ideas  of  right  to  their  extremity. 
When  the  strong  arm  and  will  happen  to 
belong  to  a bad  heart,  the  exercise  of  power 
does  not  stop  short  of  the  commission  of 
gross  injustice,  but  the  man  does  literally 
wThat  is  right  in  his  own  eyes. 

This  general  anarchy  is  made  worse  by  a 
singular  custom  that  prevails  in  regard  to 
reprisals.  If  only  the  guilty  were  caught  and 
punished,  however  violently  and  without  pro- 
cess of  law,  there  would  be  comparative  quiet, 


88 


MA  WE  DO. 


for  those  peaceably  disposed  and  innocent  of 
overt  crimes  would  feel  safe.  But,  in  reality, 
suffering  is  just  as  likely  to  fall  on  the  inno- 
cent as  on  the  guilty.  Indeed,  more  likely. 
For  any  man  who  has  committed  a crime  is 
sure  to  flee  promptly  to  a distant  part  of  the 
tribe,  or  to  maternal  relatives  in  another 
tribe,  and  is  safe.  There  is  no  military  or 
police  force  to  pursue  him,  and  the  one  whom 
he  has  injured  will  not,  single-handed,  dare 
invade  the  village  where  the  offender  is  being 
protected,  or  demand  his  extradition  from  it. 
The  injured  person  thenceforward  looks  out 
for  any  members,  however  innocent,  of  the 
offender’s  family  connections  who  may,  in 
ignorance  of  their  relative’s  crime,  come,  in 
the  course  of  a journey,  to  a village  where 
the  injured  person  happens  to  be  staying. 
Custom  then  allows  the  injured  one  to  seize 
and  retain  as  hostage  for  the  surrender  of 
the  offender,  or  for  payment  of  a fine,  the 
innocent  brother,  or  sister,  or  other  relative. 


THE  CAPTURE. 


89 


In  the  case  of  high  crimes,  the  innocent  cap- 
tives are  not  retained  simply  as  hostages,  but 
are  either  promptly  killed  on  the  spot,  or  sold 
away  into  slavery. 

On  this  occasion,  as  before  related,  Ova- 
nga’s  young  master  took  him  and  a company 
of  five  others  on  a camping  party  in  the  rub- 
ber-forest. Unknown  to  the  chief’s  son  there 
was,  in  that  same  forest,  another  party  be- 
longing to  a tribe  hostile  to  his  own,  by  rea- 
son of  a quarrel  that  had  been  carried  on  for 
many  years,  with  a succession  of  murders  on 
both  sides.  Ovanga’s  master’s  party,  in  their 
search  for  rubber-vines,  and  in  gathering  the 
sap  of  such  sticks  as  had  been  set  up  for 
drainage,  had  been  observed  and  recognized, 
and  as  they  returned,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
to  their  camp,  had  been  secretly  followed  by 
one  of  their  hereditary  enemies.  Returning 
to  his  own  camp,  the  spy  told  his  people  of 
the  proximity  of  the  others,  and  armed  a 
number  of  hfs  men  with  their  flint-lock  guns 

Wawtilo,  1 2 


go 


MAW  EDO. 


and  rude  swords.  They  came  back  stealthily 
through  the  thick  forest  shades — shades  too 
dark  for  one  to  have  ventured  alone  through 
them,  and  that  perhaps  covered  the  forms  of 
leopards,  deterred  by  the  numbers  of  the 
party  from  leaping  on  them,  as  they  would 
have  leaped  upon  a lonely  traveller.  Ovanga 
and  his  master,  with  three  men,  an  old  wo- 
man, and  a lad,  were  sitting  about  their  camp- 
fire, smoking  and  chatting,  thoughtless  of 
danger.  Their  enemies,  firing  suddenly  and 
at  close  quarters,  killed  instantly,  or  wound- 
ed, the  young  master  and  three  others.  The 
two  wounded  ones  were  promptly  stabbed  to 
death  by  the  assailants,  and  the  old  woman 
and  Ovanga  were  seized.  Only  one  man  es- 
caped to  tell  the  story.  The  little  camp  was 
plundered  of  its  few  weapons,  tools,  and 
accumulated  rubber,  the  corpses  were  left 
stripped  and  unburied,  and  the  two  captives 
were  led  away.  Slaves  still,  they  were  sent 
by  their  captors  “down  river,” "towards  the 


THE  CAPTURE. 


9* 


sea,  to  be  sold  either  directly  as  slaves,  or  to 
be  given  in  payment  of  debt  for  goods  already 
received  from  the  sub-traders  of  white  men, 
who  were  not  themselves  directly  interested 
in  slavery,  but  whose  negro  agents  misappro- 
priated for  their  own  purposes  moneys  en- 
trusted to  them  for  legitimate  commerce. 
The  boy  and  the  old  woman  were  separated. 
We  lose  sight  of  her.  The  boy  passed  into 
the  hands  of  a young  man  of  the  Nka-mi 
tribe,  a trader  at  the  Camma  seaside,  south 
of  Cape  Lopez. 


92 


MA  WE  DO. 


X.  DEATH  OF  THE  CHIEF. 

When  the  news  of  the  disaster  to  the 
party  of  rubber-hunters  reached  the  Aduma 
village,  Ayenwe  mourned  less  for  the  murder 
of  her  master’s  son  than  she  did  for  the  loss 
of  her  Ovanga,  forgetting  that  others  had 
ceased  to  regard  the  boy  as  her  child,  and 
had  looked  on  him  only  as  their  servant. 
Her  sorrow  mattered  little  to  them.  They 
gathered  around  the  grief  of  the  old  chief, 
mourning  for  the  death  of  the  young  man, 
his  son,  on  whom  he  had  centred  his  hopes 
for  carrying  on  the  honor  of  his  family  name. 
For  Ayenwe  to  have  sunk  her  own  grief,  and 
to  have  made  her  voice  prominent  in  wailing 
for  the  young  master,  would  have  been  poli- 
tic. But,  instead  of  so  doing,  she  raved  for 
Ovanga,  and  said  bitter  things  against  the 
old  man  for  having  allowed  the  boy  to  go  on 


DEATH  OF  THE  CHIEF. 


93 


that  fatal  rubber-expedition.  Though  an- 
other baby  boy  had  recently  been  added  to 
her,  she  was  not  comforted  by  the  child  any 
more  than  she  had  been  by  little  Mawedo 
five  years  before. 

Her  bitter  words  were  treasured  up  against 
her,  and  bore  almost  fatal  fruit  a few  years 
later. 

The  common  belief  in  witchcraft  as  the 
cause  of  death  gathers  about  any  native  Afri- 
can death-bed  surroundings  that  shock  a civ- 
ilized and  Christian  heart.  African  ideas  of 
witchcraft  suggest  that  the  patient  is  dying 
from  the  malignant  effects  of  an  incantation 
made  by  some  enemy,  either  a disobedient 
child,  a fractious  wife,  a covetous  brother,  a 
revengeful  slave,  a spiteful  opponent,  or  an 
envious  neighbor.  And  if  the  patient  dies, 
the  cause  of  his  death  will  be  sought,  not  in 
natural  grounds,  but  in  the  supposed  adverse 
influence  of  some  such  enemy.  So  far  is 
this  belief  carried  that  even  when  death  has 


94 


MAIVEDO. 


been  caused  by  an  obvious  accident,  for  in- 
stance, by  the  swamping  of  a canoe,  the  fall 
of  a tree  in  clearing  the  forest,  an  uninten- 
tional gun-shot  or  knife  wound,  or  the  attack 
of  a wild  beast,  the  event  is  not  accepted  as 
a natural,  inevitable  result,  but  investigation 
is  made  for  the  apprehension  of  the  crim- 
inal who  has  “ bewitched  ” the  canoe,  tree, 
gun,  or  beast,  so  as  to  make  the  accident 
fatal. 

Investigation  is  made  by  the  oganga  or 
“fetish  doctor,”  a magician  who,  with  various 
arts,  fixes  on  some  person  who  has  in  time 
past  made  himself  obnoxious  to  the  deceased, 
or  whose  apparent  indifference  to  the  death 
may  be  regarded  as  indicating  satisfaction  or 
gratification.  Sometimes  the  dying  man 
himself  accuses  some  one  or  more  persons 
against  whom  he  cherishes  resentment.  Im- 
mediately, therefore,  on  the  death  of  any  one, 
or  even  before  life  is  extinct,  the  crowd  of 
relations,  however  distant,  friends,  acquaint- 


DEATH  OF  THE  CHIEF.  95 

ances,  slaves,  and  any  who  may  think  that 
accusation  might  possibly  be  lodged  against 
themselves  by  the  oganga,  begin  a most  de- 
monstrative wailing.  The  utter  abandon  of 
this  grief  strikes  an  observer,  not  aware  of  its 
insincerity,  most  painfully.  Voices  are  lifted 
in  extravagant  praises  of  the  dead.  The  in- 
tense sadness  that  is  thrown  into  the  long- 
drawn-out  wails  of  sorrow,  especially  if  heard 
on  the  night  air,  leaves  an  impress  on  mem- 
ory that  no  subsequent  conviction  of  the  un- 
reality of  the  grief  removes. 

About  four  years  after  the  capture  of 
Ovanga  the  old  chief  died  of  the  dropsy  that 
had  for  years  been  slowly  dragging  him  to 
the  grave.  A terrible  fear  fell  on  the  tribe, 
and  especially  on  his  own  village.  The  en- 
tire population  of  the  place  gave  themselves 
up  to  the  most  violent  demonstrations  of 
grief.  Every  known  funeral  ceremony  was 
practised.  Men  wore  but  the  scantiest  and 
most  soiled  and  ragged  garments ; women, 


96 


MA  WE  BO. 


and  especially  his  widows,  were  divested  not 
only  of  ornament,  but  of  all  dress ; all  par- 
ties, with  shaven  heads,  sat  literally  in  the 
ashes;  at  sunset  and  sunrise,  and  at  intervals 
during  the  day,  all  wailed,  praising  the  dead, 
and  uttering  their  own  hopelessness  of  ever 
again  seeing  any  joy.  The  oganga  was  called 
by  the  dead  man’s  brothers  and  mother,  and 
secretly  they  mentioned  the  names  of  certain 
of  the  slaves  and  wives  who  had,  during  the 
life  of  the  old  man,  rendered  themselves  ob- 
noxious to  him,  or  of  others  who  were  late  in 
coming  to  the  mourning,  or  who  seemed  to 
show  little  grief.  With  these  names  as  a 
clew  in  the  pretended  search  for  the  house 
in  which  dwelt  the  supposed  witch  or  wizard, 
the  magician,  painted  with  colored  chalk,  with 
fantastic  garb  of  palm  leaflets,  and  loaded 
with  amulet  charms,  raced  in  well-feigned 
frenzy,  ringing  a little  bell,  up  and  down  the 
village  street,  and  in  and  out  and  around  the 
houses.  People  sat  in  awe  as  they  waited, 


DEATH  OF  THE  CHIEF.  97 

dreading,  each  one,  lest  the  lightning  of  his 
accusation  should  strike  their  houses  and 
names.  Acute  in  observation,  he  noted,  as 
he  passed  them  successively,  those  of  the 
number  whose  names  the  secret  council  had 
denounced  to  him.  He  marked  those  whose 
excess  of  fear  gave  to  their  faces  a look  of 
guilt.  Suddenly  his  bell  stopped  ringing, 
and  his  palm-wand  struck  a house,  and  in  an 
oracular  manner  he  described  a person  whom 
he  claimed  to  have  seen  in  a trance,  and 
whose  description  tallied  with  the  appearance 
of  the  occupant  of  the  house.  This  person 
the  oganga  declared  to  be  the  wizard.  The 
man  was  seized,  and  beaten  and  tortured. 
As  usual,  innocent  though  he  was,  he  sought 
to  lessen  his  supposed  guilt  by  implicating 
others,  and  charged  Ayenwe  and  three  others 
with  being  his  accomplices.  Those  three 
and  the  man  himself  were  put  to  death.  Cap- 
ital punishment  is  often  inflicted  with  torture, 
the  condemned  being  either  slowly  roasted 

Alawedo,  J T. 


98  MAWEDO. 

alive,  or  mutilated,  before  the  throat  is  finally 
cut. 

The  only  ground  of  the  accusation  against 
Ayenwe  was  found  in  those  treasured-up  bit- 
ter words  of  four  years  before.  These  would 
have  been  enough  to  condemn  her  had  she 
made  herself  otherwise  obnoxious  to  her 
master’s  relations.  But,  fortunately,  she  had 
been,  though  an  unwilling,  an  efficient  ser- 
vant ; her  still-retained  youthful  good  looks 
appealed  for  her,  and  her  life  was  spared. 
But  the  chief’s  family  feared  to  retain  in 
their  community  one  accused  of  witchcraft, 
lest  she  should  actually  do,  some  day,  what 
she  was  charged  with  at  that  time.  The 
death-punishment  was  therefore  commuted 
to  sale  into  down-river  slavery.  So  she  and 
Mawedo  and  the  little  boy  were  sold. 


IN  A SLAVE  CANOE. 


99 


XI.  IN  A SLAVE  CANOE. 

It  was  not  long  after  Ayenwe’s  condem- 
nation to  sale  away  from  what — house  of 
bondage  though  it  was — had  been  a home  to 
her  in  Aduma,  that  a party  of  men,  led  by 
an  emissary  of  the  Oru-ngu  coast  tribe,  ap- 
peared in  the  village,  where,  in  the  mean- 
while, she  had  been  kept  in  “ the  stocks.” 

Stocks  are  more  or  less  severe,  according 
to  the  offence  with  which  a criminal  is 
charged.  Sometimes  both  feet  and  both 
hands  are  hampered ; sometimes,  only  one 
foot.  A hole  is  cut  in  a log  of  wood  large 
enough  to  conveniently  admit  a hand  or  foot, 
which,  being  thrust  into  the  hole,  is  pre- 
vented from  being  withdrawn  by  an  iron 
spike  driven  through  the  log  and  through 
the  side  of  the  opening,  thus  closing  the 
space  to  the  actual  size  of  the  wrist  or  ankle. 


IOO 


MAWEDO. 


To  this  log  is  padlocked  a chain,  by  which 
the  prisoner  is  fastened  at  night  During 
the  day  he  can  engage  in  various  sedentary 
works,  being  at  liberty  to  walk  about,  carry- 
ing his  chain  and  log,  somewhat  as  convicts 
in  America  carry  their  ball  and  chain,  though 
they  are  less  hampered  than  the  African 
prisoner. 

Ayenwe ’s  free  hands  were  busy,  though 
one  foot  thus  weighted  made  it  impossible 
for  her  to  escape.  Even  had  she  escaped, 
before  she  could  have  found  her  way  back  to 
her  own  Bateke  tribe,  she  would  have  been 
picked  up  as  a waif  and  re-enslaved. 

Slaves  and  prisoners  in  that  country  gen- 
erally accept  servitude  where  the  lot  falls  to 
them,  knowing  that  escape  elsewhere  would 
be,  not  to  freedom,  but  only  to  some  other 
master.  Only  in  the  face  of  death  does  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation  lead  to  flight,  in 
the  hope  that  some  new  master’s  treatment 
may  be  less  than  death. 


IN  A SLAVE  CANOE. 


IOI 


Ayenwe’s  life  having  been  spared,  she 
awaited  with  some  indifference  the  expected 
journey  down  river.  Her  chief  cause  of  anx- 
iety was  in  the  uncertainty  as  to  whether  she 
would  be  handed  over  to  slavery  in  some 
coast  tribe,  or,  as  was  possible,  passed  on  to 
that  White  Man’s  Land  of  which  she  had 
heard  vague  accounts — extravagant  stories  of 
its  wealth,  and  a horrid  report  that  slaves 
were  the  food  of  the  white  spirits.  This 
latter  report  seemed  quite  credible  to  Aye- 
nwe  because  of  the  fact  that  some  negro 
tribes  near  the  Aduma  were  cannibals;  and 
nothing  in  her  idea  of  spiritual  existence 
made  it  appear  improbable  that  white  spirits 
needed  food. 

The  Orungu  fleet  consisted  of  five  ca- 
noes; long,  narrow  vessels  dug  out  of  single 
trees,  and  capable,  each  of  them,  of  carrying 
twenty  people,  besides  the  goods  needed  for 
purchase  of  food,  and  the  luggage  of  cooking 
utensils  and  tents.  It  had  not  been  a sue- 


102 


MAWEDO. 


cessful  trip  for  the  slave-trader.  He  was  con- 
stantly expending  goods  for  the  food  of  his 
crews,  had  obtained  only  some  thirty  slaves, 
consisting  of  men,  women  and  children,  and 
the  favorable  season  for  descending  the  river 
was  passing.  So,  filling  up  most  of  the  un- 
occupied space  in  his  fleet  with  goats  and 
rubber-gum,  he  led  the  chained  Ayenwe,  with 
Mawedo  and  the  little  boy,  to  the  water-side, 
and  placed  them  in  one  of  the  canoes.  The 
mother’s  desire  to  retain  her  children,  little 
as  was  her  love  for  them  as  compared  with 
her  love  for  the  lost  Ovanga,  was  quickened 
by  the  possibility  that  she  might  be  sold 
away  from  them ; and  she  pleaded  to  be  al- 
lowed to  take  them  with  her.  .Her  wish 
would  not  have  had  the  slightest  weight 
either  with  her  former  owners  or  the  new,  if 
their  own  interests  had  not  pointed  in  the 
same  direction.  The  Aduma,  taking  advan- 
tage of  their  opportunity,  asked  an  unusually 
large  price  for  the  two  children,  which  the 


IN  A SLAVE  CANOE. 


103 


Orungu  was  not  unwilling  to  give,  as  his 
stock  of  slaves  was  small,  and  as  he  had 
given  but  a low  price  for  the  mother,  the 
taint  of  a witchcraft  charge  diminishing  her 
value. 

Seated  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoes,  the 
slaves  floated  down  the  river,  on  what  might 
have  been  a pleasant  journey  if  the  chains 
had  not  chafed  on  wrists  and  ankles;  if  the 
stick  that  fastened  back  their  arms  had  not 
made  lying  down  impossible  for  the  backs 
that  soon  became  so  weary;  if  they  had  had 
free  hands,  to  hold  up  some  broad  leaf  to 
shade  them  from  the  sun;  if  the  crowded 
condition  of  the  canoes,  packed  with  boxes, 
goats,  gum,  and  other  articles,  had  not  made 
any  change  of  position  difficult. 

They  floated  down  past  the  mountains 
that  Ayenwe  had  always  known,  past  the 
open  prairie  uplands  of  Akanda  and  Okota. 
They  shot  dangerous  rapids.  Sometimes, 
when  the  rapids,  like  falls,  were  too  violent 


io4 


MAWEDO . 


to  be  passed,  the  canoes  were  carefully  un- 
loaded, and  canoes  and  goods  were  all  car- 
ried around  the  rocky  ravines  of  the  falls  to 
the  smooth  water  below,  the  captives  slowly 
marching. 

Past  all  these  rapids,  they  came  to  the 
smooth  wide  reaches  of  the  river  in  the  Ake- 
le  tribe.  Then  Ayenwe  heard  it  whispered 
that  they  were  not  far  from  a white  man’s 
house. 

They  stopped  one  day,  in  the  burning 
noon,  to  cook  their  mid-day  meal.  Instead 
of  resting  under  the  shade  of  trees  on  either 
bank,  the  Orungu  drew  up  to  a dry  sandbar 
that  extended  out  into  the  river.  The  ab- 
sence of  trees  there  obviated  the  possibility 
of  ambuscade  by  any  enemy.  This  was  such 
a common  danger  among  the  native  tribes 
that  the  crews  of  travelling  canoes  chose  to 
lose  the  comfort  of  the  cool  dense  shades  on 
the  river  banks,  rather  than  expose  them- 
selves to  a possible  ambush  in  those  shades. 


IN  A SLA  VE  CANOE. 


io5 

The  Orungu  and  his  companions  relieved 
their  limbs  by  walking  about  on  the  sands, 
or  lolling  in  the  shadow  of  a cloth  hung  up 
as  a rude  tent,  while  their  servants  of  the 
party  stewed  fish  and  roasted  cassava  that 
they  had  bought  on  the  way.  Driftwood  on 
the  sandbar  supplied  the  little  fuel  that  was 
needed,  and  the  iron  pot  and  brass  kettle 
gained  in  ivory-trade  were  the  only  needed 
utensils ; river-water  was  at  hand,  and  fire 
was  soon  gotten  from  the  universally  carried 
flint  and  steel. 

A mile  distant,  on  the  same  side  of  the 
river,  on  a beautifully  sloping  hillside  that 
commanded  an  extensive  view,  was  a trading- 
house,  named  “Aguma,”  because  of  two  tall 
cotton-wood  trees  that  stood  at  the  water- 
side. It  was  occupied  by  a Scotch  gentle- 
man and  his  white  clerk,  with  their  army  of 
native  servants,  and  sub-traders,  and  their 
assistants,  whose  bamboo-hut  quarters  sur- 
rounded the  imposing  “ Factory,”  like  a vil- 

D 


Mawedo. 


io6 


MAWEDO. 


lage  in  extent.  This  gentleman  was  on  the 
very  outpost  of  the  civilization  of  the  river, 
he  and  his  clerk  being  the  two  white  men 
farthest  advanced  towards  the  interior.  Their 
life  was  sometimes  overburdened  with  a rush 
of  work,  when  the  little  steamer  belonging  to 
their  Liverpool  employers’  firm  came,  quar- 
terly, to  carry  away  the  rubber,  etc.,  that 
they  had  accumulated.  At  such  times  all 
the  native  sub-traders  were  called  in  to  settle 
accounts.  Each  of  these  had  his  boat’s  crew 
of  from  twelve  to  twenty  men  and  boys. 
The  combined  crews  amounted  to  as  many 
as  two  hundred  people,  who,  with  drunken- 
ness and  quarrels  and  strikes  for  higher 
wages,  sometimes  made  the  white  man’s  life 
unsafe.  When  the  steamer  left,  and  the 
boats’  crews  departed  to  their  outposts,  quiet 
came,  with  an  easy  daily  routine  of  buying 
and  selling  that  made  life  monotonous  after 
the  supply  of  newspapers  had  been  read. 

That  day,  while  the  blue  smoke  was  curl- 


IN  A SLAVE  CANOE.  107 

ing  from  the  noon  camp-fire  of  the  Orungu 
slave-trader  on  the  sandbar,  Mr.  Dunbar 
was  sitting  on  the  veranda,  under  the  broad 
eaves  of  the  trading-house,  the  blue  smoke  of 
his  pipe  circling  over  his  head  as  he  rested 
after  his  own  meal,  and  looked  across  the 
shimmering  water  and  the  rich  green  islands 
to  the  hazy  distant  hills  of  the  Ngu-nye  river 
eastward.  Looking  up  stream  he  saw  with 
his  glass  the  collection  of  canoes  on  the 
sandbar,  and,  suspecting  they  might  belong 
to  some  of  his  own  people,  coming  with  a 
supply  of  rubber,  he  started  for  a stroll,  to 
satisfy  his  curiosity.  There  followed  him  his 
negro  valet,  carrying  his  extra  pipe  and  to- 
bacco, another  attendant  with  his  gun,  and 
others  still  who  fell  into  line  in  idle  expecta- 
tion, each  having,  as  was  customary,  his  own 
gun.  The  trader  also  ordered  along,  for 
company,  a handsome  Nkami  man,  one  of  his 
sub-traders,  who  had  with  him  his  own  slave 
valet,  a little  boy  of  about  eleven  years  of 


io8 


MAWEDO. 


age.  They  strolled  out  over  the  sandbar  to 
the  Orungu,  who  rose  to  scan  their  approach. 
Mr.  Dunbar  saw  that  the  new-comers  were 
not  his  people,  and  the  Orungus  saw  that  the 
guns  meant  nothing  hostile. 

The  customary  salutations  were  ex- 
changed. Mr.  Dunbar  took  in  the  situation, 
and  his  kind  heart  pitied  the  chained  slaves; 
but  he  had  no  authority  to  interfere.  He 
saw  them  eating  their  food  unrelieved  from 
their  cramped  positions,  and  some  let  their 
morsel  lie  untouched.  Weariness  and  sick- 
ness and  fear  had  taken  away  their  appetite. 
One  form  particularly  attracted  his  attention. 
It  was  that  of  a woman  still  young-looking, 
whose  lighter  color  and  more  regular  fea- 
tures would  have  made  her  noticeable  even 
if  a look  of  terror  had  not  come  over  her 
face  as  she  saw  the  white  man  coming  to- 
wards the  canoe  in  which  she  was  sitting,  with 
a little  girl  at  her  feet  and  a boy  of  four  or 
five  years  in  her  arms.  It  was  Ayenwe,  who 


IN  A SLAVE  CANOE. 


iog 


now,  for  the  first  time,  found  herself  looking 
on  a white  man.  Chained,  there  was  no 
chance  of  flight;  crowded  by  other  slaves, 
and  by  the  goods,  she  could  not  move;  terror 
riveted  her  gaze  on  the  tall  form,  and  on  the 
face,  flushed  with  heat  and  bent,  from  under 
the  broad  hat,  inquiringly  towards  her.  Was 
this,  she  thought,  one  of  those  white  spirits 
of  whom  she  had  heard?  And  had  she  al- 
ready met  her  fate,  as  a cannibal’s  victim? 
But  no;  his  tones  of  voice  were  those  of  gen- 
tleness and  kindness,  such  as  she  had  not 
heard  for  many  a day.  And  she  overheard 
him  talking  to  the  Orungus  in  their  own 
language,  of  which  she  had  already  picked 
up  a little  on  the  way  down.  He  was  asking 
the  Orungu  leader  why  he  did  not  feed  his 
people  better,  and  why  he  did  not  ease  their 
positions  in  the  canoes. 

The  look  of  terror  left  her  face,  and,  as 
she  looked  towards  the  other  forms  of  negroes, 
her  eyes  fell  on  the  Nkumi  and  his  well- 


1 10 


At  A IVEDO. 


dressed  valet.  Suddenly  her  body,  hitherto 
crouched  over  her  little  boy  in  weariness, 
weakness,  and  dread,  drew  itself  up  as  high 
and  straight  as  chain  and  bar  would  permit ; 
her  hands  were  withdrawn  from  her  boy,  and 
she  strained  herself  over  the  canoe’s  side  to 
stare  at  the  well-dressed  lad.  Her  lips  were 
working  convulsively  with  words  that  could 
not  form  themselves.  Her  eyeballs,  as  if 
they  would  start  from  their  sockets  to  go 
where  her  fettered  feet  would  have  carried 
her,  were  telling  what  her  lips  had  failed  to 
speak.  Surely  she  knew  that  boy’s  face ! 
Surely  she  recognized  that  voice,  that,  slightly 
changed  since  she  last  heard  it,  was  chatting 
with  a fellow-lad,  though  the  words  spoken 
were  in  the  same  Orungu  dialect  that  her 
new  masters  had  been  speaking  to  her! 
Surely  he  was  not  an  Orungu ! And  yet,  he 
was  dressed  like  the  Nkami  and  the  white 
man.  Had  he  lived  with  them  always? 
She  knew  better  than  that.  Those  limbs 


IN  A SLAVE  CANOE. 


hi 


she  had  fondled  in  childhood;  she  had  built 
her  hopes  of  restoration  to  freedom  on  the 
love  of  that  heart  and  the  labor  of  those 
hands.  It  was  her  own  Ovanga ! She 
screamed,  in  the  Aduma  dialect,  “ My  child ! 
my  child ! Come  to  me,  Ovanga,  come !” 
The  eyes  of  all  had  been  drawn  to  her  by 
her  strange  actions.  And  now,  at  her  call, 
the  Orungu  and  Mr.  Dunbar  and  the  Nkami 
drew  near.  She  still  beat  her  chained  hands 
against  her  breast  in  dumb  show  towards 
Ovanga,  protesting  her  relationship  to  him. 

The  lad  recognized  the  woman’s  dialect, 
and,  bidden  by  his  Nkami  master,  advanced, 
startled  and  somewhat  unwilling.  He  re- 
membered that,  about  four  years  before,  his 
name  had  been  “ Ovanga but  his  master 
had  called  him  by  a new  name.  He  had 
been  treated  kindly.  Slavery  had  been  to 
him  easy  in  its  lines.  He  had  abundance  of 
food  and  fine  clothes,  and  a constant  share  in 
the  wonderful  sights  of  white  men’s  homes. 


T 12 


MAWEDO. 


He  had  readily  forgotten  his  slave-mother; 
and  that  scarred,  wearied  face  and  form,  that 
struggled  frantically  in  the  canoe,  failed  to 
recall  to  him  any  memory  of  her.  He  almost 
shrank  from  her  attempt  to  embrace  him — 
her  hands  having  been  temporarily  untied — 
for  he  regarded  himself  as  free,  and  scorned 
the  miserable  slaves  around  him. 

Ayenwe  pleaded  with  the  white  man,  in 
whose  eye  she  read  kindness,  to  buy  her,  that 
she  might  be  near  her  boy.  But  he  declined 
to  deal  in  slaves.  She  pleaded  with  the 
Nkami  to  buy  her ; but  his  pecuniary  indebt- 
edness to  Mr.  Dunbar,  rather  than  any  anti- 
slavery principle,  made  him  refuse.  She 
pleaded  with  the  Orungu  to  buy  Ovanga  of 
the  Nkami;  but  the  latter  refused  to  part 
with  his  slave  except  at  a price  too  high  for 
the  Orungu’s  projects  of  speculation. 

Ovanga  approached  Ayenwe ; his  filial 
feeling  had  at  last  aroused  itself  as  she  cried 
in  agony,  “Oh,  have  you  forgotten  me?  You 


IN  A SLA  VE  CANOE. 


JI3 


are  mine!  I am  your  mother!”  She  drew 
him  down  to  her,  in  the  wet  and  reek  of  the 
canoe,  and  rained  tears  on  his  loved  face ; 
and  he,  in  childish  sympathy,  gave  tears  in 
return ; for  amid  all  the  kindness  he  had  re- 
ceived in  slavery,  he  had  met  with  no  love, 
and  his  young  heart  responded  to  that. 

The  Orungu  became  impatient.  The 
Nkami  had  no  interest  in  the  scene.  Mr. 
Dunbar  turned  away,  sad  for  the  pain  that 
he  could  not  relieve.  Some  rough  hands 
flung  Ovanga  aside,  and  fastened  the  bar 
again  on  Ayenwe’s  impatiently -resisting 
arms.  The  Orungus  reembarked ; and  Aye- 
nwe,  screaming,  floated  away  from  the  view 
of  Ovanga,  who,  weeping  subduedly,  followed 
his  Nkami  master. 


Mitwerto. 


15 


MAIVEDO. 


114 


XII.  AT  THE  SEASIDE. 

Ayenwe’s  screams  fell  more  and  more 
faintly  on  the  ears  of  the  crowd  ashore  who 
stood  watching  the  receding  fleet  of  canoes 
as  the  rapid  current  swept  them  around  the 
river’s  bend,  and  no  longer  heard  by  Ovanga, 
she  passed  for  ever  from  his  sight. 

A two  days’  journey,  down  the  long 
reaches  of  the  island-studded  delta  of  the 
Ogowe,  past  herds  of  hippopotami  basking 
on  the  barely  submerged  sandbars,  past  the 
papyrus-lined  banks,  through  the  narrow 
channels  choked  with  Pandanus  (screw-pine), 
whose  numerous  strong  outer  roots,  branch- 
ing closely  downwards  from  the  lower  part 
of  the  trunk  and  entering  the  ground  on 
all  sides,  give  the  tree  a partially  uprooted 
look,  by  floating  islands,  among  the  curiously 
rooted  mangroves,  and  out  to  the  wonderful 


AT  THE  SEASIDE. 


"5 


expanse  of  the  sea,  brought  the  company  of 
slaves  to  an  Orungu  king’s  town  at  Cape 
Lopez.  Most  of  them,  though  scarcely  able 
to  move  their  stiff  limbs,  were  marched  to  a 
slave-pen.  A few,  Ayenwe  among  the  num- 
ber, too  weak  to  attempt  to  escape,  were 
loosed  from  their  chains,  and,  no  longer  ra- 
tioned, were  fed  with  comparative  abundance. 
To  attempt  to  return  interior-ward  would  be 
useless.  What  home  was  there  there  to 
reach?  Wearied  with  the  journey,  and 
dazed  with  the  sight  of  the  great  sea  and  the 
winged  boats,  of  which  inland  report  had 
often  told  by  the  camp-fire,  the  slaves  were 
satisfied  to  sit  down  in  the  present  abun- 
dance, and  commend  themselves  to  their  new 
masters  by  services  performed  at  first  in  the 
village  limits,  and  afterwards,  as  their  liberty 
was  cautiously  extended,  in  the  plantations 
across  the  adjacent  prairie.  On  the  prairie 
those  of  the  men-slaves  who  were  intrusted 
with  guns  made  themselves  useful  by  hunt- 


1 1 6 


MAWEDO. 


ing  antelopes  and  other  wild  animals.  Some 
were  taken  by  their  masters  and  initiated  in 
the  art  of  sailing  and  fishing  on  Cape  Lopez 
Bay,  which  they  found  more  difficult  than 
paddling  on  smooth  river-water. 

Ayenwe  began  to  enjoy  her  seaside  life. 
Her  dread  of  being  made,  by  white  spirits,  a 
victim  of  cannibalism  had  passed  away,  for 
she  had  learned  the  falsehood  of  that  report. 

One  day,  shortly  after  her  arrival  at  Cape 
Lopez,  a small  vessel  ran,  under  the  strong 
sea  breeze,  into  the  shelter  of  one  of  the 
many  creeks  of  the  mangrove  islands. 
Strange  men  came  ashore  in  a boat,  and  it 
was  said  that  these  were  white  spirits. 
Ayenwe  observed  that  they  had  not  the  fair 
skin  and  light  hair  of  the  Mr.  Dunbar  whom 
she  had  seen  up  the  river.  They  were 
swarthy,  almost  as  dark  as  some  of  her  own 
people,  but  with  long  black  hair.  She  heard 
them  called  “ Putu,”  heard  that  they  were 
the  men  who  carried  away  slaves  in  their 


AT  THE  SEAS/DE. 


117 

white-winged  ships  to  islands  out  in  the 
great  sea.  She  saw  these  strangers  received 
as  visitors,  and  eating  and  acting  as  other 
human  beings  ; and  Mawedo,  who  was  rap- 
idly gathering  up  the  language,  informed 
her  that  the  free  children,  with  whom  she 
played  in  the  streets,  had  told  her  that  they 
had  come,  not  for  food,  but  to  buy  slaves  to 
work  in  their  coffee  plantations.  She  saw 
the  round  pieces  of  metal,  which  she  after- 
wards learned  was  silver,  paid  by  handfuls  to 
the  king  of  the  town  ; and  the  slave-pen  was 
emptied,  and  its  living  contents  were  packed 
in  the  vessel  anchored  in  the  creek.  With 
the  darkness  of  night — to  escape  the  vigil- 
ance of  British  cruisers — and  with  fresh  land- 
wind  and  swiftly  flowing  ebb-tide,  the  vessel 
spread  her  sails  and  sped  westward  to  St. 
Thomas  and  Prince’s  Islands,  possessions  of 
Portugal,  about  one  hundred  and  eighty 
miles  out  at  sea. 

Relieved  of  fear,  Ayenwe,  with  Mawedo, 


MA IVEDO. 


118 

now  a helpful  child  of  ten  years,  settled  them- 
selves  to  their  recently  shown  tasks,  and 
found  an  animal  satisfaction  in  the  abun- 
dance of  fish  that  sported  in  the  bay,  and 
which,  with  little  exertion  on  the  part  of  the 
men,  were  caught  in  tens  of  thousands.  The 
work  of  drying  them,  for  sale  to  tribes  far- 
ther north,  was  a constant  but  not  oppressive 
labor.  Sometimes  when  the  tide  was  out, 
Mawedo,  with  other  children,  would  paddle 
some  old  canoe  among  the  many  inlets  of  the 
lagoon,  and  gather  from  the  roots  and  hangers 
of  the  mangrove-trees  the  oysters  clustering 
on  them. 

Members  of  the  Mangrove  tribe  are 
found  on  the  marshy  seacoasts  of  most  trop- 
ical countries,  and  by  their  dense  vegetation, 
intercepting  the  rays  of  the  sun  and  promo- 
ting the  exhalation  of  noxious  vapors  from 
about  their  roots,  apparently  are  responsible 
for  much  of  the  unwholesomeness  which  dis- 

i 

tinguishes  most  localities  in  which  they  are 


AT  THE  SEASIDE . 


"9 


abundant.  The  mangroves  belong  to  the 
natural  Order  Rhizophorea , which  contains 
four  genera.  The  genus  Rhizophora  in- 
cludes three  species,  two  of  which,  the  Rhi- 
zophora Mangle,  and  the  R.  Racemosa,  are 
abundant  on  the  West  African  coast  from 
Senegambia  to  Guinea,  both  inclusive.  The 
R.  Candel  abounds  on  the  western  coast  of 
Hindostan.  Both  of  the  former  are  also 
found  in  the  West  Indies  and  South  Amer- 
ica, and  the  mangrove  extends  even  into  our 
own  Florida  and  Louisiana.  Most  of  the 
species  are  remarkable  for  the  peculiarity  of 
their  rooting  and  germination.  Many  wide- 
spreading  roots  shoot  out  from  the  base  of 
the  trunk  and  extend  over  and  into  a large 
surface  of  the  mud  in  which  the  tree  grows, 
and  the  upper  trunk  and  branches  also  send 
down  hangers  which,  like  those  of  the  ban- 
yan, themselves  take  root  and  spread.  The 
The  seed  begins  to  germinate  before  it  is  de- 
tached from  the  seed-vessel,  the  radicle,  or 


120 


MA  WEDO. 


root-end,  of  the  seed  elongating  into  a slen- 
der thread  which  often  reaches  and  enters 
the  ground  from  a considerable  height,  or  if 
the  elevation  is  too  great  the  seed  drops  and 
immediately  strikes  root  and  develops  leaves. 

The  spawn  of  oysters  at  high  tide  at- 
taches itself  to  the  hangers,  and  even  to  the 
branches,  of  the  mangroves.  Clinging  there 
the  young  oysters  grow,  being,  at  each  risen 
tide,  submerged;  and  when  they  are  finally 
grown  they  are  easily  gathered,  with  the 
water  at  half-tide. 

This  life  of  comparative  comfort  did  not 
last  long.  One  day  there  came  a large  boat, 
not  like  white  men’s  boats,  but  made  out  of  a 
single  tree  trunk,  and  governed  by  tall,  stout, 
fierce-looking  people  of  Ayenwe’s  own  color, 
whom  her  Orungu  masters  received  as  visit- 
ors  from  the  Be-nga  tribe,  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  northward.  They  came  to  buy 
slaves,  and  Mawedo  and  her  mother  and  lit- 
tle brother  were  sold  to  them.  Ayenwe’s 


AT  THE  SEASIDE. 


121 


natural  good  looks,  improved  by  the  good 
food  and  easier  life  of  Cape  Lopez,  made  her 
a desirable  object.  The  Benga  visitors 
treated  her  with  some  care,  but  she  dreaded 
their  harsh  looks  and  manners,  fiercer  and 
ruder  than  those  of  the  more  enervate  Oru- 
ngus. 

She  would  have  preferred  remaining  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  Ogowe,  for  did  not  she 
remember  that  Ovanga  was  somewhere  on 
its  waters,  only  a few  days’  journey  away  ? 
She  had  eagerly  scanned  many  boats’  crews 
that,  coming  down  river,  had  stopped  at  the 
king’s  town,  for  she  had  hoped  that  Ovanga 
might  possibly  be  in  their  company.  If  she 
had  only  known  that  his  master  was  a Nka- 
mi,  or  what  that  master’s  name  was,  or  that 
Ovanga  was  now  called  by  a new  name,  she 
would  have  had  clews  that  could  have  led  to 
the  boy’s  identification,  though  she  would 
have  been  powerless  to  convey  herself  to  him. 

It  was  true  that  Ovanga  and  his  master,  with 

16 


M iw^Uo. 


122 


MAIVEDO. 


the  Nkami’s  boat  and  crew,  did  travel  the 
waters  of  that  lagoon,  on  their  way  to  the 
sea,  while  Ayenwe  was  there ; but  there  were 
too  many  outlets  and  creeks  for  her  to  know 
or  see  all  who  were  passing ; and  she  never 
saw  them. 

Mawedo,  with  her  mother  and  brother,  for 
the  first  time  passed  out  into  the  rough  sea, 
the  Benga  boat  barely  keeping  in  sight  of 
the  shore.  Mawedo  looked  in  terror  on  the 
white-tipped  waves  that  seemed  like  living 
creatures  trying  to  grasp  at  her  over  the 
gunwale.  And  then  the  terror  yielded  to 
the  deathly  sea-sickness  that  laid  its  limp  vic- 
tims in  the  boat’s  bottom,  regardless  of  dis- 
comfort, decency,  or  life.  She  knew  not 
whither  they  went,  but  only  heard  enough  to 
understand  that  they  were  going  northward 
to  some  river.  At  night  the  Benga  masters 
landed  to  rest  and  eat  at  Sangatanga.  Next 
day,  with  the  same  terror  and  the  same  sick- 
ness, the  slaves  were  brought  to  Gaboon 


AT  THE  SEAS/HE. 


123 


Point.  And  a third  day  of  worse  experience 
over  the  rough  waves  of  Corisco  Bay,  brought 
them,  weak  from  hunger,  to  the  white  beach 
of  an  island  that  afterwards  Mawedo  learned 
to  regard  as  beautiful.  There,  on  that  same 
Ka-mba  beach,  the  girl  soon  learned  to  romp, 
gathering  shells;  and  there,  years  later,  was 
to  be  enacted  for  her  mother  and  brother  a 
fearful  tragedy.  Most  welcome  to  the  anx- 
ious eyes  of  Ayenwe  and  her  children  was 
the  land  as  they  stepped  ashore,  glad  to 
accept  anything  in  exchange  for  the  living 
torture  of  the  sea. 

Ayenwe  passed  into  the  hands  of  O-so- 
ngo,  chief  of  Kamba  village,  her  looks  com- 
mending her  to  him  as  one  of  his  slave-wives. 
He  appropriated  Mawedo,  at  the  same  time, 
as  his  child.  Giving  her  the  position  of  a 
free-woman,  he  sold  her  in  marriage  dowry  a 
year  later,  when  she  was  nearly  twelve  years 
of  age,  to  a friend,  of  the  Mbi-ko  tribe,  on 
the  adjacent  mainland  shore  of  the  bay. 


124 


MAIVEDO. 


Mawedo  cared  nothing  for  the  man  into 
whose  hands  she  thus  passed,  but  was  pleased 
with  the  free  position  given  her,  though  to 
be  a slave  of  the  aristocratic  Benga  tribe, 
who  looked  down  upon  the  Mbikos,  was 
almost  equal  to  being  a free  Mbiko. 

Thus  Ayenwe  was  again  left  with  but 
one  child,  the  little  boy,  now  nearly  seven 
years  old. 


A LITTLE  WITCH. 


125 


XIII.  A LITTLE  WITCH. 

On  Corisco  Island,  where  Ayenwe  con- 
tinued to  live  and  work  after  Mawedo  had 
gone  to  Mbiko,  there  were  three  mission 
houses,  at  intervals  of  two  or  three  miles 
apart,  in  which  were  gathered  boys  and  girls 
from  the  island,  and  from  the  mainland  dis- 
tant from  fifteen  to  twenty  miles.  At  two  of 
those  houses  preaching  was  held  on  the  Sab- 
bath. The  island  itself  had  been  selected  as 
a desirable  mission  location  in  the  hope  that 
it  would  be  more  exempt  from  the  common 
fevers  of  the  country  than  the  mainland.  It 
is  beautifully  situated  in  the  centre  of  Co- 
risco Bay.  On  the  west  is  the  open  expanse 
of  the  Atlantic,  whose  mighty  waves  thunder 
over  the  long  reefs  that  stretch  seaward,  and 
fling  on  the  snow-white,  dazzling  beach  beau- 
tiful treasures  of  shells.  Southward  the  view 


126 


M AWE  DO . 


is  varied  by  little  gems  of  islands,  Le-va  and 
Mba-nye ; and  northward  are  the  bold  out- 
lines of  Cape  St.  John.  Eastward,  like  a set- 
ting to  this  central  brilliant  and  its  islet  gems, 
lie  the  green  Mbiko  shores,  through  which, 
into  the  bay,  empty  the  waters  of  the  rivers 
Munda  and  Muni  (Rio  d’Angra) ; the  latter 
is  miscalled  by  the  white  sailors  of  the  E-lo- 
bi  trade  islands,  “ River  Danger.” 

Though  a year  had  passed,  after  Mawe- 
do’s  arrival  on  Corisco,  before  she  was  mar- 
ried to  one  of  the  Mbiko  people  who  lived  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Munda,  and  though  Kamba, 
the  town  of  Osongo,  her  Benga  master,  was 
only  a mile  from  one  of  the  three  mission 
houses,  where  were  a Girls’  School  and  a 
church,  neither  she  nor  her  mother  had  ever 
been  allowed  to  go  to  church.  In  their  rapid 
transit  from  the  Ogowe  to  Orungu,  and 
thence  to  Corisco,  they  had  met  only  with 
heathen  like  themselves ; not  with  native 
Christians,  or  even  with  those  who  in  mis- 


A LITTLE  WITCH. 


127 


sion  houses  had  heard  of  the  gospel.  At 
Corisco,  in  Kumba  village,  they  saw  a few 
men  and  women,  differing  in  dress  and  man- 
ner of  life  from  the  rest  of  the  natives,  and 
whom  they  had  heard  called  “ Klisani.”  By 
them  they  had  directly  been  told  of  sin  and 
salvation,  and  a Saviour  Jesus.  And  the 
missionary,  or  two  missionary  ladies  from  the 
Girls’  School,  visited  the  village  occasionally, 
paid  their  respects  to  Ayenwe’s  master,  and 
held  religious  services.  But  slaves  were  not 
often  allowed  to  come  very  near  to  the  chief’s 
white  visitors ; they  were  kept  at  their  labors 
in  the  hut,  or  the  plantation,  or  fishing. 

So  Mawedo  knew  very  little  of  the  gos- 
pel. And  in  Mbiko  there  was  still  less 
chance  of  her  being  taught  any  truth,  except 
for  the  possibility  that,  at  long  intervals, 
some  one  of  the  Corisco  missionaries,  on  an 
itineration  to  the  mainland  north  or  east,  in- 
cluding the  Munda  in  his  route,  might  come 
to  the  village  where  Mawedo  was  living. 


128 


MA  WEDO. 


One  bright  day,  when  the  fresh  rains  had 
brought  out  new,  soft  leaves,  and  the  fleecy 
clouds  lay  white  against  the  blue  sky,  and 
the  birds  rejoiced  with  man  in  their  return- 
ing freedom  from  the  dull,  leaden  skies  and 
chill  winds  of  the  long  dry  season,  a scene 
was  being  enacted  on  the  Munda  beach  that 
was  not  at  all  in  consonance  with  the  loveli- 
ness of  forest  and  sky  and  air.  A stout 
young  girl  of  twelve  years  of  age,  stripped  of 
her  clothing,  her  face  and  back  and  limbs 
torn  with  thorns  and  seamed  with  stripes,  lay 
chained  to  a tree  at  the  head  of  the  beach. 
She  was  silent  and  tearless,  partly  from  ex- 
haustion, and  partly  from  desperation.  She 
had  exhausted  herself  in  vain,  frantic  strug- 
gles of  resistance  to  the  forceful  hands  that 
had  beaten  and  bound  her.  Hope  of  escape 
or  release  was  dead.  For  there  was  no  pity 
or  mercy  in  any  of  the  many  eyes  of  men 
and  women  who  surrounded  her.  They 
were  quarrelling  among  themselves,  not  as  to 


A LITTLE  WITCH. 


129 


whether  she  should  live  or  die,  but  as  to  the 
mode  by  which  her  death  should  be  accom- 
plished under  her  sentence  of  condemnation 
as  a witch.  They  were  taxing  their  ingenu- 
ity in  selecting  from  the  modes  of  torture 
the  one  that  should  most  gratify  their  cru- 
elty. Some,  the  most  violent,  demanded 
that  she  should  be  instantly  hurried  to  the 
water-side,  and  have  her  throat  cut.  Others, 
less  violent,  but  more  cruel,  wanted  to  make 
a bedstead-like  frame  of  wood,  to  which  she 
should  be  tied  in  a reclining  posture,  and  then 
slowly  roasted  to  death  by  a small  fire  kept 
burning  beneath  the  frame.  Others  would 
have  tied  her  to  a convenient  post  and  grad- 
ually let  out  her  life  by  the  amputation  of 
her  joints  one  after  another.  All  these  were 
modes  that  were  practised  in  witchcraft  exe- 
cutions. 

But  the  majority  finally  chose  a death 
less  painful,  but  more  lingering  in  its  ap- 
proach. The  tide  was  out  of  the  river,  and 

17 


M a we  do. 


130 


MA  WEDO. 


down  near  the  water’s  edge  was  a stake,  to 
which  the  fishermen  were  accustomed  to  tie 
their  canoes.  To  this  the  girl  was  led  and 
securely  fastened,  a heavy  stone  being  tied  to 
her  ankles,  which  were  secured  to  the  base  of 
the  stake ; another  rope  was  tied  around  her 
waist,  and  her  wrists  were  tied  to  the  top  of 
the  stake  above  her  head.  The  crowd  sat 
down  at  the  head  of  the  beach  to  watch  the 
waters,  which,  when  the  tide  should  return 
from  the  bay,  would  flow  up  over  the  muddy 
shores  of  the  river.  As  they  sat  there,  gloat- 
ing over  the  expected  fears  of  the  poor  girl 
when  finally  the  flood  should  reach  her  face, 
they  sharpened  her  dread  by  calling  up  to 
her  pictures  of  it  in  anticipation,  and  by 
taunting  her  with  the  acts  that  had  led  to 
her  present  fate.  She  very  well  remembered 
those  acts.  They  had  been  intentional ; she 
had  pursued  them  systematically  with  an  ob- 
ject in  view.  During  the  less  than  six  hours 
that  were  to  elapse  before  the  waters  would 


A LITTLE  WITCH. 


J3l 

rise  over  her  head,  the  events  of  the  past  year 
came  vividly  to  her  remembrance. 

When  first  she  had  been  brought  from 
Corisco  Island  to  be  married  to  the  Mbiko, 
who  already  had  a number  of  wives,  the 
change  to  a new  place,  and  a slight  pride  of 
position  as  the  new  household  pet,  had 
pleased  her.  But  she  was  only  a child,  and 
the  husband’s  older  wives  were  jealous  be- 
cause she  accepted  the  petting  without  doing 
any  service.  And  the  husband  so  soon 
showed  himself  arbitrary  and  tyrannical  that 
she,  never  having  had  any  love  for  him,  or 
interest  in  him,  deliberately  undertook  to 
make  herself  as  disagreeable  as  possible,  in 
the  hope  that  he,  wearied  with  her,  would 
take  her  back  to  Osongo,  on  Corisco,  as  an 
unsatisfactory  piece  of  goods.  All  this  she 
had  time  to  remember  as  the  tide  began  to 
lap  against  her  feet.  She  remembered  how, 
when  the  other  women  had  secured  a beating 
for  her  by  telling  some  lie  about  her,  she  had 


132 


MAWEDO. 


avenged  herself  by  getting  them  and  other 
women  into  trouble ; how  she  had  secretly, 
when  they  were  making  their  cassava-bread, 
thrown  into  it  sand,  which,  as  it  gritted 
against  the  teeth  of  those  who  ate  it,  had 
aroused  their  anger  against  the  women  for 
their  supposed  carelessness.  She  remem- 
bered how  she  had  introduced  thorns  into 
the  bedding  of  those  who  maltreated  her,  and 
how  she  exulted  to  herself  as  she  overheard 
their  sharp  cry  of  pain  as  they  laid  them- 
selves to  rest  for  the  night. 

The  waters  rose  towards  her  knees,  and 
the  crowd  ashore  reminded  her  that  she 
could  not  run  away  from  the  hungry  waves 
as  she  had  sometimes  played  truant  from  the 
kitchen,  making  searchers  weary  themselves 
in  calling  for  her,  while  she  was  hidden  in 
some  nook  near  them.  She  remembered  the 
quarrels  she  had  produced  among  them  by 
telling  lies  about  one  to  another,  and  thus 
literally  “ setting  households  by  the  ears.” 


A LITTLE  WITCH. 


133 


The  salt  waters  startled  her  as  they 
clasped  her  hips,  and  the  crowd  ashore  re- 
minded her  how  she  had  gathered  chips  of  a 
fetid  tree,  and,  laying  them  on  their  fires, 
had  spoiled  their  food  and  driven  them  in 
disgust  out  of  their  huts.  And  then  she  re- 
membered how,  prompted  by  a hasty  temper 
inherited  from  her  mother,  or  by  her  over- 
flowing spirits,  she  had  done  everything  pos- 
sible to  make  herself  hated  by  her  husband. 
Even  while  he  was  living,  the  towns-people 
had  called  her  a witch;  and  she  had  well 
earned  the  name. 

As  the  chill  waters  rose  to  her  waist,  she 
struggled  with  the  bitter  reflection  that  be- 
fore her  husband  had  been  actually  driven  to 
the  point  of  sending  her  away,  her  plan  had 
failed  by  his  sudden  death  from  injuries  re-^ 
ceived  in  an  elephant  hunt,  and  all  her  accu- 
mulated ill  deeds  were  what  had  fixed  on  her 
the  charge  of  being  the  witch  who  had  caused 
those  injuries  and  his  death. 


134 


MAWEDO. 


The  cold  salt  waters  laved  her  breast. 
But  the  people  ashore  were  not  now  jeering 
her  as  they  had  been.  She  saw  their  eyes 
turned  farther  out  on  the  bay  behind  her. 
She  could  not  see  what  they  were  looking 
at.  She  observed  that  their  curiosity  became 
excited.  She  heard  the  words  “ elende  ” 
(boat),  and  “ ikuku  ” (sail),  and  “ utangani  ” 
(white  man).  Presently,  from  a side  angle  of 
vision,  she  saw,  rapidly  approaching  under 
the  strong,  fresh  sea-breeze,  a white-sailed 
boat,  which,  as  it  came  clearly  into  view,  she 
recognized  as  the  mission-cutter  that,  from 
Kamba  beach  on  Corisco,  she  had  often  seen 
passing  on  the  sea  to  the  A-lo-ngo  house. 

The  missionary  was  on  one  of  his  monthly 
trips,  itinerating,  preaching,  and  collecting 
pupils,  and  in  the  usual  routine  was  making  a 
semi-annual  visit  to  the  Munda. 

Mawedo  turned  her  face  upward  from  the 
steady,  cold,  salt  wave  that  was  gripping  her 
throat,  and  screamed  out  the  missionary’s 


A LITTLE  WITCH.  135 

name,  calling  him,  in  native  custom,  “ My 
father ! my  father ! I am  dying ! help  me.” 

The  boat,  which  was  advancing  directly 
towards  the  alarmed  crowd  ashore,  deflected 
from  its  course,  and  anchored  near  her.  A 
few  words  to  the  mission-crew  explained  to 
them  her  condition.  A man  with  a kindly 
face  leaped  overboard,  and,  diving  for  a mo- 
ment, with  a sharp  knife  severed  the  cords  at 
the  girl’s  feet  and  waist.  Then,  loosing  her 
hands,  he  lifted  her  into  the  boat,  just  as  a 
fleet  of  canoes,  manned  by  the  more  daring 
of  her  enemies,  paddled  from  shore  to  protest 
against  the  rescue  of  their  victim. 

Flinging  her  a few  yards  of  cloth  to  wrap 
around  her,  the  missionary,  whose  kindly  face 
and  voice  now  changed  their  look  and  tone, 
turned  to  the  would-be  murderers.  Meeting 
them  with  indignation  and  firmness,  he  pro- 
tected the  girl  from  their  grasp,  quieted  their 
fury,  deliberately  bargained  with  them  for  her 
life,  and  paid  them,  in  cloth,  beads,  and  other 


J36 


MAWEDO. 


trade-goods,  the  ransom  which  they  demand- 
ed. Then,  after  preaching  them  a sermon 
while  standing,  like  Jesus,  in  the  boat,  he 
took  the  girl  away  to  Corisco  Island  and 
safety.  Mawedo  sat  in  the  boat  grateful  for 
rescue ; and  with  eyes,  ears,  and  heart  opened, 
she  listened  that  night,  as  she  had  never  lis- 
tened before,  to  a Book  from  which  her  res- 
cuer read  to  her  a strangely  beautiful  story. 


LIGHT  IN  A DARK  PLACE. 


*37 


XIY.  LIGHT  IK  A DARK  PLACE. 

Mawedo  was  brought  by  her  rescuer  to 
the  Mission  Girls’  School  on  Corisco.  It  was 
a new  scene  to  her.  Though  she  had  often 
passed  by  the  house,  and  had  even  sold  eggs 
and  vegetables  at  its  door,  had  seen  the  mis- 
sionary ladies  in  their  visits  to  Kamba  and 
other  villages,  and  had  heard  some  of  the 
schoolgirls,  in  their  vacations,  tell  of  their 
school-life,  the  whole  was  so  outside  of  her 
life  and  knowledge,  and  her  previous  igno- 
rance was  so  great,  that  she  had  failed  utterly 
to  comprehend  any  part  of  it.  She  under- 
stood only  that  schoolgirls  were  fed  regu- 
larly, and  dressed  fully,  and  made  to  obey 
certain  rules,  which  she  thought  restrictive, 
and  taught  about  God,  of  whom  she  knew 
nothing.  But  she  had  been  pleased  with  the 

sight  of  the  pretty  dresses,  and  she  liked  to 

18 


maweilo. 


MA IVEDO. 


138 

hear  the  hymns,  some  of  whose  tunes  she 
had  overheard  in  the  town,  though  she  did 
not  know  the  meaning:  of  the  words. 

So  it  was  with  a mixture  of  trepidation, 
pleasure,  and  curiosity  that  she  entered  the 
one  little  room  of  the  Mission  House  that 
made  any  pretensions  to  being  a parlor,  and 
where  the  two  ladies  had  come  to  receive 
her  and  her  rescuer.  The  trepidation  gave 
way  before  the  kindly  smiles  of  the  younger 
lady,  Miss  Helen  Cameron,  who  drew  her  to 
her  side,  and  the  motherly  look  of  the  more 
elderly  lady,  who  made  a record  of  the  girl’s 
age,  tribe,  and  antecedents. 

A group  of  scholars  had  gathered  about 
the  hall-door,  curious  to  see  and  criticise  the 
appearance  of  the  new  pupil.  As  Miss  Helen 
led  her  away  to  the  schoolroom,  to  dress  her, 
and  introduce  her  to  the  other  pupils,  Ma- 
wedo  heard  the  girls  repeating  among  them- 
selves part  of  the  story  of  her  rescue,  to  which 
they  had  listened  at  the  parlor-door;  and  she 


LIGHT  IN  A DARK  PLACE. 


J39 


saw  looks  of  repulsion  and  gestures  of  scorn, 
and  heard  the  words,  “ oshaka  ” (slave)  and 
“nyemba”  (witch).  Such  was  her  reception 
by  her  schoolmates.  The  resentment  that  it 
raised  in  her  heart  obscured  the  first  pleas- 
ant impression  received  from  Miss  Helen’s 
kindly  touch  and  loving  words.  And  an 
hour  had  not  passed,  after  Mawedo  had  been 
left  with  the  other  girls,  to  play  in  their  com- 
pound, before  her  resentment  at  the  taunts 
and  insults  that  were  put  upon  her  by  them, 
led  her  into  a quarrel  that  compelled  Miss 
Helen  to  a troublesome  investigation. 

O 

The  history  of  that  day  was  repeated  on 
many  days  during  the  next  few  years.  Ma- 
wedo felt  herself  an  Ishmaelite  amon^  the 
other  girls.  All  the  tricks  and  pranks  that 
she  had  played  in  the  Mbiko  village,  she  prac- 
tised on  her  unloving  schoolmates.  Not  sat- 
isfied with  avenging  herself  for  actual  wrongs 
received  from  them,  she  was  ingenious  in 
devising  plans  to  annoy  them,  until  her  pres- 


140 


MA IVEDO. 


ence  in  the  school  became  an  affliction,  and 
the  patient  ladies  were  forced  to  admit  to 
themselves  that  she  had  well  earned  her 
name  of  witch.  However  excusable  her 
pranks  on  her  schoolmates  might  have 
seemed  to  her  when  viewed  in  connection 
with  the  provocation  which  they  gave  her, 
she  was  greatly  at  fault  in  not  restraining 
herself  by  some  thought  of  the  trouble,  an- 
noyance, and  sorrow  that  she  caused  the 
missionary  ladies.  Yet  she  really  loved 
them ; they  were  justified  by  her  even  when 
they  had  to  punish  her.  And  she  loved  the 
school.  It  was  her  home.  She  could  have 
run  away,  as  some  pupils  did.  But  in  Mbiko 
she  was  a witch ; and  in  Kamba  she  was  at 
best  only  a freed  slave. 

Miss  Helen’s  heart  warmed  towards  the 
friendless  one,  and  her  own  natural  vivacity 
enabled  her  to  look  with  some  leniency  on 
the  girl’s  love  of  mischief,  which  would  have 
been  less  censurable  if  it  had  not  been  direct- 


LIGHT  IN  A DARK  PL  A CE.  1 4 1 

ed  by  revenge.  Mawedo  was  affectionate, 
and  with  tears  would  promise  amendment 
when  her  gentle  teacher  persuaded  her  to 
kneel  in  prayer  for  Divine  Help  to  overcome 
resentful  feeling.  She  learned  her  lessons 
readily,  and  was,  by  her  quickness,  age,  and 
size,  rapidly  advanced  to  the  list  of  “ big 
girls,”  in  whom  certain  trusts  and  confiden- 
ces were  reposed.  When,  by  some  outburst 
of  mischief  or  anger,  she  degraded  herself 
from  honorable  position  and  from  Miss  Hel- 
en’s favor,  she  felt  her  punishment  keenly. 
She  would  go  to  her  teacher’s  room,  and, 
flinonnor  herself  at  her  feet  in  a burst  of  tears, 
would  passionately  embrace  her  knees,  and, 
rapidly  repeating  one  word,  “sasa!  sasa!” 
(please ! please !)  a score  of  times,  till  she 
was  almost  breathless,  would  promise,  for  the 
hundredth  time,  to  behave  properly,  if  only 
she  were  “this  once”  forgiven  and  restored 
to  favor. 

Miss  Helen’s  human  pity,  that  had  re- 


142 


MA  IVEDO. 


peatedly  touched  Mawedo’s  heart,  her  Chris- 
tian firmness  that  rebuked  and  punished,  and 
the  self-denying  love  for  others  that,  as  Ma- 
wedo  could  not  but  see,  pervaded  her  daily 
life,  made  a parallel  by  which  the  girl  could 
understand  the  stories  that  she  read  and  was 
taught  of  divine  pity,  and  divine  punishment 
of  sin,  and  opened  her  heart  to  the  divine 
love  of  Calvary.  God  revealed  himself  to 
our  race  in  the  person  of  the  man  Christ 
Jesus,  and  Jesus  revealed  himself  to  Mawedo 
in  the  life  of  a consecrated  woman.  The 
girl’s  eyes  saw  dimly  at  first.  But  by  degrees 
she  grew  to  love  and  obey  the  great  Exem- 
plar himself,  as  he  is  revealed  in  his  Word, 
and  as  the  Spirit  increasingly  revealed  him 
to  her  heart. 

Before  she  had  been  four  years  in  the 
school,  she  had  asked  for  baptism,  and  was 
received  at  Christ’s  table.  Really  a child  of 
God,  she  tried  to  be  consistent,  though  often 
her  old  temper  would  vent  itself ; but  for 


LIGHT  IN  A DARK  PLACE.  143 

such  outbursts  she  always  rebuked  herself 
more  severely  than  her  teachers  rebuked  her. 
Her  worst  fault  was  the  untruthfulness  that 
had  been  her  constant  practice  from  child- 
hood. To  lie  was  actually  easier  to  her  than 
to  tell  the  truth.  She  had  been  accustomed 
to  lie  for  no  apparent  reason ; and  the  sin 
still  clung  to  her,  and  gained  an  advantage 
when  sudden  temptation  assailed  her.  But 
she  generally  repented  before  the  untruth 
was  discovered,  and,  coming  to  her  teacher 
with  humiliation,  would  say,  “ Mamma,  I told 
you  a lie  that  time.” 

As  she  grew  older  she  became  skilful  in 
braiding  the  strands  of  beads  of  various 
colors  and  sizes  with  which  the  girls  amused 
part  of  their  play  hours,  and  which  their 
teachers  encouraged  them  to  wear  as  orna- 
ments, instead  of  the  heavy  brass  leg-rings 
and  arm-rings  required  by  native  heathen 
fashion. 

She  was  also  skilful  in  braiding  the  hair 


144 


MAWEDO. 


of  the  younger  girls,  an  art  that  is  practised 
by  every  native  woman  for  her  special 
friends,  the  style  of  braiding  being  such  that 
no  one  can  do  it  for  herself.  In  school  the 
larger  girls  often  found  it  an  irksome  task 
when  required  to  do  it  for  the  little  ones. 

During  Mawedo’s  four  years  at  school, 
she  had  little  to  do  with  her  mother  and  bro- 
ther, and  the  little  sister  who  had  been  born 
about  the  time  of  her  entrance  into  the 
school.  The  school  routine  purposely  kept 
the  children  away  from  the  vicious  sights 
and  sounds  of  the  villages,  but  it  did  not  at 
all  forbid  visits  to  the  school  by  the  heathen 
parents  and  relatives  of  the  pupils.  Rather, 
such  visits  were  encouraged,  in  order  that 
the  children’s  relatives  might  see  something 
of  Christian  home-life.  But  Mawedo’s  mo- 
ther was  so  engaged  with  her  plantation 
work  several  miles  away,  that  any  intimacy 
between  her  and  her  child  was  not  encour- 
aged by  Osongo  and  his  people.  They  pre- 


LIGHT  IN  A DARK  PLACE. 


*45 

ferred  that,  as  Osongo  had  called  Mawedo 
his  adopted  daughter,  he  should  be  kept  on 
the  school  records  as  “ father  ” and  patron, 
and  receive  from  the  missionary  ladies  what- 
ever advantage  their  words  or  their  gifts 
might  confer.  Legally,  he  had  no  claim  on 
her,  nor  did  the  mission,  which  held  her  as 
its  ward,  wish  him  to  have  any  influence  over 
her,  or  allow  him  any  authority  about  her. 
As  to  Mawedo  herself,  she  knew  why  her 
mother  had  so  named  her  in  her  infancy; 
she  felt  that  the  best  love  she  had  ever 
known  was  that  of  her  missionary  rescuer 
and  teachers;  and  she  was  satisfied.  Her 
teacher  took  her  sometimes  to  visit  her  mo- 
ther and  little  sister,  and  sometimes  she  saw 
the  latter  in  her  mother’s  arms  on  the  Mis- 
sion veranda,  where  native  women  brought 
food  for  sale.  On  those  village  visitations, 
Mawedo,  in  her  Christian  zeal,  sang  to  the 
baby  some  of  the  pretty  hymns  that  she  had 
learned.  And  she  tried  to  lighten  the  hard 

Mawedo,  I Q 


146 


MA  WE  no. 


lot  of  her  mother  by  a Christian  filial  interest 
more  faithful  than  the  slight  maternal  love 
she  had  herself  received. 

Ayenwe’s  pride  was  gratified  by  the  sight 
of  the  well-dressed,  handsomely-grown  young 
woman,  who  was  not  ashamed  to  call  her 
“ my  mother but  she  listened  to  the 
prayer  that  her  daughter  made  in  the  low 
smoky  hut  more  to  please  the  child,  in  re- 
turn for  the  little  present  of  soap,  needles, 
or  other  small  commodity  that  was  regularly 
placed  in  her  hand,  than  for  any  understand- 
ing her  own  dark  heart  had  of  that  prayer’s 
blessed  truth.  Nevertheless,  she  could  not 
fail  to  see,  and  to  consider,  while  at  her  gar- 
dening or  fishing,  that  the  white  man’s  God 
was  worth  serving,  if  only  he  made  the  life  of 
his  servants,  like  Mawedo’s,  lovelier  than  her 
own.  Yet,  if  she  had  had  the  power,  she 
would  selfishly  have  dragged  Mawedo  down, 
by  taking  her  to  help  her  in  her  tasks  as  a 
fellow-slave.  And  Osongo’s  people  often 


LIGHT  IN  A DARK  PLACE.  147 

troubled  the  Mission  by  trying  to  draw  Ma- 
wedo  away,  notwithstanding  that  her  Mbiko 
husband’s  payment  of  the  full  marriage 
dowry  had  extinguished  any  Benga  right  to 
her,  and  the  payment  of  the  witch-ransom  to 
her  Mbiko  persecutors  had  left  the  Mission 
her  indisputable  guardian. 


148 


MA  WEDO. 


XV.  TEMPTED  AND  TRIED. 

There  were  other  influences  at  work  to 
draw  Mawedo  away  from  the  Mission  House, 
besides  those  that  came  from  her  mother’s 
selfishness  and  her  former  master’s  cupidity. 

By  her  four  years’  stay  in  the  school  she 
had  grown  to  be  sixteen  years  of  age;  a pe- 
riod, at  the  equator,  which,  in  development  of 
feeling  and  capability,  contains  more  than 
those  same  years  commonly  represent  in  ex- 
tra-tropical countries.  She  was  a young  wo- 
man, handsome,  intelligent,  educated,  viva- 
cious, with  a full  flow  of  spirits  that  made 
her  enjoy  life.  The  restrictions  of  school 
which  as  a child  she  had  submitted  to,  she 
felt  that  at  her  present  age  she  might  be  ex- 
cused from.  She  was  no  longer  simply  a pu- 
pil, but  was  often  employed  as  a monitress, 
or  assistant  teacher.  But  she  murmured 


TEMPTED  AND  TRIED. 


149 


that  no  salary  was  given  her.  She  forgot 
that  all  that  she  was  she  owed  to  the  Mis- 
sion’s care,  and  that  the  service  she  gave 
might,  for  a while,  well  be  an  unpaid  one. 
A spirit  of  independence  echoed  the  taunts 
of  the  Kamba  people,  who  declared  that  in 
rendering  a service  for  which  she  received 
nothing  but  food,  clothing,  and  love,  she  was 
becoming  the  “missionary’s  slave.” 

It  may  be  that  her  mission  friends  were 
not  wise  in  failing  to  recognize  sooner  that 
she  was  no  longer  a child,  and  in  not  giving 
her  a satisfactory  work  and  position.  She 
had  skill  with  her  needle,  at  the  wash-tub 
and  ironing-board.  Despising  the  small  com- 
pensation which  the  Mission  felt  able  to  give 
her  for  this,  as  compared  with  what  white 
traders  paid  for  such  labor,  she  began  to 
work,  at  first,  unwillingly,  then  disobediently, 
then  angrily ; and  finally,  in  an  unfortunate 
hour,  impatient  of  control  by  a new  mission- 
ary, who  had  recently  become  connected 


MA  WE  no. 


*s° 

with  the  school,  she  broke  away,  and,  leaving 
the  school,  went  to  Kamba  village.  There, 
left  to  herself,  she  would  soon  have  repented 
of  her  hasty  step.  But,  imagining  that  her 
first  visit  to  the  mission  home,  which  she  in- 
tended as  an  advance  towards  return,  was  re- 
ceived with  coldness — a coldness  which  was 
really  only  a just  rebuke — the  breach  widened 
between  herself  and  her  Christian  friends. 
The  heathen  of  the  village  took  care  to  en- 
large the  breach  still  farther  by  reporting  un- 
kind remarks  which  they  falsely  said  the  mis- 
sionaries had  made  about  her,  and  with  a 
reckless  feeling  Mawedo  allowed  herself  to 
be  led  by  her  companions  into  undesirable 
society,  among  which  were  some  members  of 
the  foreign  white  community. 

Not  only  does  every  native  man  consider 
one  or  more  wives  as  an  indispensable  accom- 
paniment of  existence,  but  every  native  wo- 
man looks  to  marriage  as  the  goal  of  her  life. 
Mawedo,  at  school,  had  seen  that  others  were 


TEMP1ED  AND  TRIED.  15 1 

given  away  in  marriage,  while  no  arrange- 
ments of  that  kind  had  been  suggested  for 
her  by  her  mission  guardians.  She  felt  this 
as  a slight.  When  her  heathen  friends  sug- 
gested alliance  with  different  white  men,  and 
brought  her  presents  from  them,  she  felt  flat- 
tered and  was  not  averse.  She  had  been 
born  and  reared  in  vice;  and  while  it  was 
true  that,  under  the  Christian  teachings  of 
the  missionary  ladies,  made  effective  by  the 
influences  of  the  Spirit,  Mawedo’s  heart  had 
grown  purer,  and  faith  in  Christ  was  refining 
and  sanctifying  it,  she  still  looked  on  mar- 
riage from  a low  point,  and  appreciated  little 
of  its  sanctity  as  an  institution  of  divine  ap- 
pointment, guarded  by  divine  regulations. 
Thus  weak  in  principle,  insidious  advances 
of  a tempter  would  not  have  startled  her,  had 
one  come  to  her  in  attractive  guise.  But 
she  was  true  enough  to  herself  to  be  above 
mercenary  purchase.  So,  when  a brutal  cap- 
tain of  a trading  vessel,  in  imitation  of  hea- 


MA IVEDO. 


*52 

then  custom,  without  the  excuse  of  heathen 
ignorance  of  the  law  of  God,  literally  bought 
her  in  a pecuniary  transaction  with  Osongo’s 
people,  and  came  to  take  her  away  as  his 
temporary  wife,  she  recoiled  from  his  touch, 
and  fled  into  an  adjacent  village.  Osongo’s 
people  followed  her  with  threats,  saying  that 
she  must  go  with  the  white  man,  since  the 
money  had  been  paid  for  her.  When  they 
attempted  to  drag  her  away,  she  escaped 
from  them,  and,  like  a frightened  deer,  fled 
to  the  Mission  House,  where,  bursting  into 
the  study  of  the  good  old  missionary  as  he 
sat  at  his  desk  translating  the  Bible,  she 
threw  herself  at  his  feet,  exclaiming,  “ My  fa- 
ther! my  father!  save  me!” 

The  surprised  old  man  could  scarcely  get 
an  intelligible  story  from  her  lips,  so  exci- 
tedly did  she  speak,  between  hysteric  sobs 
and  tears.  By  the  time  he  fully  understood, 
and  had  assured  her  of  her  safety,  a note  was 
handed  him,  ungrammatical,  coarsely  worded, 


TEMPTED  AND  TRIED. 


*53 


and  in  barely  legible  writing,  signed  by  the 
white  man,  and  demanding  her  instant  deliv- 
ery, on  the  ground  of  “country  marriage”  in 
right  of  dowry  paid  to  her  professed  relatives. 
Two  of  his  boat  crew,  powerful  men,  mem- 
bers of  the  Kroo  tribe,  which  furnishes  por- 
ters and  boatmen  to  all  the  West  Coast  Afri- 
can trade,  had  brought  the  note,  and  stood 
ready  to  enforce  its  demand. 

The  missionary’s  house  was  partly  occu- 
pied as  a Consulate,  and  he  himself  was  Act- 
ing U.  S.  Consul.  Stepping  quietly  into  his 
study,  which  he  had  left  that  he  might  speak 
with  the  Kroomen,  he  brought  out  an  Amer- 
ican flag,  and  significantly  flung  it  over  the 
veranda  railing.  As  the  starred  and  striped 
folds  floated  in  the  breeze  fresh  from  the  sea, 
he  indignantly  bade  the  two  men  tell  their 
master  to  “come  and  take  the  girl.”  They 
understood.  The  enraged  captain  under- 
stood also,  when  the  message  was  reported  to 
him,  and  he  dared  carry  his  violence  no  farther. 


JJawedo. 


20 


I54 


MA  WE  DO. 


Warned  by  this  experience,  Mavvedo 
would  have  done  well  to  return  to  her  em- 
ployments at  the  Mission  House.  But,  after 
a few  days  of  protection,  when  her  perse- 
cutor had  gone,  the  same  influences  that 
had  originally  made  her  dissatisfied  with  re- 
straints led  her  to  leave  them  again,  saying 
that  God  was  in  the  villages,  and  she  could 
serve  him  there  also.  This  was  true,  and 
she  had  not  fallen  into  overt  sin,  nor  ne- 
glected the  duties  of  her  Christian  profession. 
But  she  was  walking  in  slippery  places. 

Her  skill  in  sewing,  washing  and  ironing 
obtained  her  remunerative  employment  from 
the  trading-houses,  nearer  to  which  she  re- 
moved for  the  more  convenient  performance 
of  her  work.  Thus  she  came  daily  into  the 
presence  of  unscrupulous  sailors,  shipping 
men,  and  young  clerks,  who  amused  them- 
selves in  their  leisure  moments  by  conversing 
with  the  bright  young  African.  Having 
heard  of  the  repulse  which  she  had  given  to 


TEMPTED  AND  TRIED.  155 

the  rough  captain,  these  others  approached 
her  courteously,  in  the  guise  of  respectful  ad- 
miration. She  was  gratified  by  their  atten- 
tions, their  compliments  flattered  her,  and 
their  presents  of  dresses  were  not  offensive 
to  her,  in  her  stage  of  civilization. 

Poor  girl!  she  was  only  a foolish  fly, 
being  meshed  in  a web  that  would  soon  prove 
too  strong  for  her. 

She  had  indeed  tried  to  guard  herself. 
But  all  her  associations  were  such  as  inevita- 
bly weakened  principle  and  slackened  her 
sense  of  duty.  Excuses  for  absence  from 
church  were  more  frequently  made  by  her ; 
her  Bible  lay  scarcely  used ; and  she  sup- 
pressed prayer  in  the  presence  of  those  who 
sneered  at  both  Bible  and  prayer.  Around 
her  were  other  women  who  were  leading  a 
life  of  indolence,  in  the  enjoyment  of  pretty 
ornaments  and  bright-colored  garments,  and 
the  tempter  in  her  heart  asked,  “ Why  might 
not  you  have  the  like  ?”  and  assured  her  that 


156  MAWEDO. 

she  might  have  them  if  she  would  consent  to 
follow  one  young  man  who  had  lately  be- 
come more  open  in  his  professions  of  devo- 
tion, and  for  whom  she  felt  an  increasing 
attachment. 

A marriage  ceremony  meant  but  little  to 
her,  for  she  had  seen  native  men  who  had 
been  married  in  the  Mission  House  by  Chris- 
tian ceremony  become  polygamists  by  adding 
heathen  wives,  in  native  custom,  and  the 
Christian  wife  was  then  in  no  better  case 
than  one  of  the  others. 

Poor  Mawedo’s  slight  appreciation  of 
what  was  due  to  and  from  womanly  and 
wifely  dignity,  made  her  willing  to  dispense 
with  a ceremony,  if  there  were  given  and 
received  undivided  affection. 

So  when,  some  months  later,  the  hand- 
some blue  eyes  that  had  pleased  her  with 
their  admiration,  and  that  looked  so  true, 
pleaded  warmly  while  their  owner  promised 
to  love  only  her  if  she  would  follow  him,  she 


TEMPTED  AND  TRIED. 


J57 

followed.  But,  because  there  was  no  mar- 
riage ceremony,  she  knew  that  her  friends  of 
the  Mission  House  condemned  her.  She 
stayed  away  from  church,  for  she  knew  her 
name  was  suspended.  And  she  feared  to 
meet  again  Miss  Helen’s  sad  eyes,  that  had 
looked  at  her  so  reprovingly  one  day  when 
they  passed  each  other  on  the  beach. 

In  a very  little  while  Mawedo  found  that 
the  undivided  love  she  had  trusted  in  so  con- 
fidingly was  not  given  to  her.  Bitterly  re- 
penting her  mistake,  and  the  heartlessness  of 
the  love  for  the  sake  of  which  she  had  chosen 
sin  and  disgrace,  and  alienation  from  her 
God  and  her  true  friends,  wounded,  and  with 
a truer  sense  of  what  Christian  marriage 
might  be,  she  again,  broken  and  humbled  in 
Spirit,  sought  the  Mission  House,  craving  for- 
giveness and  any  position,  however  menial,  if 
only  the  sheltering  arms  of  human  and  divine 
pity  might  again  be  about  her. 


*58 


MAWEDO. 


XYI.  A REVELATION. 

Humble  as  Mawedo  was  in  seeking  a 
home  in  the  Mission  House,  she  could  not 
again  be  received  into  the  same  relations 
there  as  when  she  was  a pupil.  Nor  was  it 
desirable  that  she,  now  seventeen  years  of 
age  and  a woman  in  growth  and  feeling, 
should  be  put  on  the  same  footing  as  little 
girls.  Miss  Helen  took  her  under  her  own 
care,  treating  her  as  a friend,  and  paying  her 
as  her  personal  servant.  Mawedo  waited  on 
her  when  she  was  sick,  assisted  her  when  she 
cut  out  and  basted  the  clothing  of  the  school- 
girls, and  accompanied  her  in  her  walks  to 
the  villages.  This  association  convinced 
Miss  Helen  of  the  sincerity  of  Mawedo’s 
repentance,  and  restored  her  former  trust  in 
the  girl. 

The  Sabbath  services  of  the  mission 


A REVELATION. 


*59 


churcn  were  attended  by  most  of  the  foreign 
resident  merchants.  Even  those  who  made 
no  profession  of  personal  interest  in  religion 
came  for  the  sake  of  good  habits  formed  in 
their  early  homes,  or  in  pursuance  of  kindly 
invitations  from  the  missionary  in  charge. 

There  came  to  that  region  occasionally, 
as  guests  of  these  merchants,  scientific  men, 
sent  out  by  foreign  Societies  to  investigate 
the  rare  fauna  and  flora  of  Equatorial  Africa. 

One  day  there  stepped  reverently  into 
the  church  a young  man  who,  after  the  ser- 
vices, as  the  preacher  stopped  at  the  door  to 
greet  strangers,  was  introduced  as  Dr.  Nel- 
son, a botanist  from  England.  His  open 
face,  shaded  by  a brown  beard,  his  frank  eye, 
intelligent  conversation,  and  courteous  man- 
ner, impressed  all  in  his  favor,  and  he  was 
soon  welcomed  as  a visitor  in  the  little  circle 
at  the  Mission  House.  He  gladly  availed 
himself  of  the  liberty  thus  extended.  For  as 
he  had  sat  that  first  day  in  the  plain  bamboo 


i6o 


M A WE  DO. 


church,  his  eye  had  fallen  on  the  sweet,  up- 
turned face  of  Miss  Helen,  pale  with  a recent 
illness  that  had  left  her  dark  eyes  more  lus- 
trous, and  her  brow  fairer,  under  the  brown 
hair  that  shaded  it.  A strong,  rich  contralto, 
that  worked  itself  in  and  out  among  the  har- 
monies of  the  tune,  forced  itself  on  his  ear  as 
coming  from  her  lips.  And  this  young  man, 
who  until  now  had  been  wholly  devoted  to 
his  chosen  science,  had  to  confess  to  himself 
that  no  English  cathedral  walls  had  ever 
seemed  so  attractive  as  those  unadorned 
bamboo  walls  that  enclosed  this  lady’s  purity 
and  beauty. 

Acquaintance  with  her  in  the  mission 
parlor  only  assured  him  that  she  was  as  in- 
telligent and  amiable  as  she  was  beautiful. 
When  he  wished  for  song,  she  kindly  joined 
his  clear  tenor,  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
parlor  organ.  She  responded  gratifyingly  to 
his  interest  in  the  botany  of  the  region,  as 
from  time  to  time  he  brought  her  fresh  speci- 


A REVELATION. 


161 


mens  of  flowers.  To  his  manifest  though 
delicately-expressed  appreciation  she  gave 
only  a dignified  acknowledgment,  though  in 
her  secret  heart  she  felt  that  this  noble  stran- 
ger was  not  unworthy  of  a woman’s  trust. 
His  invitations  for  a stroll  along  the  beach 
or  to  some  forest  scene  were  decorously 
declined,  she  instinctively  feeling  that,  in 
that  strange  land  and  amid  a strange  multi- 
tude of  witnesses,  her  feet  should  not  go 
where  her  heart  was  not  prepared  to  follow. 
That  decision  meant  a great  deal.  Though 
he  was  a respecter  of  religion,  she  knew  that 
to  follow  him  would  be  to  leave  the  special 
service  to  which  she  had  consecrated  her 
life.  The  reserve  that  she  felt  it  necessary 
to  begin  to  exercise  towards  him  was  main- 
tained with  a sense  of  pain,  which  increased 
as  his  love  became  less  disguised. 

Mawedo’s  keen  eyes  had,  from  the  first, 
observed  the  doctor’s  admiration  for  her  mis- 
tress, and  her  daily  and  nightly  association 

21 


MawcUo, 


162 


MA  WEDO. 


with  Miss  Helen  made  her  more  than  sus- 
pect a reciprocal  interest  on  her  part  in  the 
visitor.  The  latter  had  not  been  slow  to 
observe  that  the  young  native  woman  was 
the  white  lady’s  constant  attendant.  Ma- 
wedo,  enlisted  in  his  behalf  by  the  charm  of 
his  unfailing  courtesy,  and  a peculiar  respect- 
fulness which  he  naturally  extended  to  her- 
self, as  one  whose  worth  he  thought  demon- 
strated by  her  admission  to  constant  inter- 
course with  Miss  Helen,  was  becoming  curi- 
ous to  see  how  the  more-than-suspected  inter- 
est of  the  latter  would  manifest  itself.  She 
knew  how  heathen  acted  in  their  loves ; she 
had  sadly  seen  how  some  white  men  loved ; 
she  knew  of  missionaries’  loving  only  by 
those  who  came  to  Africa  already  married. 
Here  was  something  new.  She  said  to  her- 
self, “ This  man  and  this  woman  love  each 
other,  but  they  act  towards  and  speak  about 
each  other  differently  from  any  other  man 
and  woman  whom  I have  ever  seen  eivinsr 


A REVELATION.  163 

love  to  each  other.”  Were  there,  then,  two 
kinds  of  love?  She  had,  when  a schoolgirl, 
been  gently  whispered  to  about  such  words 
as  prudence  and  purity.  But  she  had  not 
seen  those  words  exemplified  in  the  lives  of 
other  natives;  she  had  failed  to  realize  them 
in  her  own.  She  thought  that  perhaps  she 
had  not  understood  what  had  been  described. 
But  here  was  a revelation.  Miss  Helen  was 
exemplifying  what  she  had  often  inculcated. 
And  from  that  time  no  spy  ever  watched  more 
closely  than  Mawedo.  She  even  watched 
dishonorably. 

The  doctor,  unable  to  secure,  in  the  par- 
lor conversation,  the  private  interview  that 
he  desired,  and  his  respectful  requests  for  a 
seaside  walk  being  gently  refused,  was  com- 
pelled to  use  his  pen,  and  employed  Mawedo 
as  his  postal  messenger.  His  manner  in 
handing  the  note  to  her  somewhat  revealed 
its  character,  and  her  curiosity  led  her  to 
open  it  on  the  way.  It  read  as  follows  : 


164 


M A WE  DO. 


“ Miss  Cameron  : The  guise  of  simple 
friendship  under  which  I entered  the  Mis- 
sion House  I can  no  longer  maintain.  I 
pray  you,  grant  me  an  hour  when  I may 
come  to  you  for  an  interview.  I wish  to 
offer  what  any  Christian  gentleman  would 
have  the  right  to  ask  acceptance  for  of  a lady 
the  fascination  of  whose  presence  compelled 
his  love  even  before  he  knew  her  name. 
Assent,  please,  to  this  my  petition ; and  if 
you  shall  then  deem  it  duty  to  return  me 
these  lines,  and  all  else,  unaccepted,  I' will 
not  say  that  the  assent  compromised  in  the 
least  your  right  to  do  so. 

“With  the  respectful  admiration  of 

“HUGH  M.  NELSON.” 
Mawedo’s  eyes  glowed  as  she  read  the 
words.  She  had  heard  of  many  native  love 
messages.  But  this  was  so  utterly  unlike 
them.  So  respectful,  yet  self-respecting.  So 
complete  in  what  it  offered,  yet  so  contained 
in  what  it  plead  for. 


Page  165. 


A REVELATION. 


i65 

She  stood  by,  as  Miss  Helen  read  it,  and 
watched  the  flush  that  came  over  the  pale 
cheek,  which  the  next  instant  became  paler 
than  before,  as  she  rose  and  requested  Ma- 
wedo  to  leave  her  alone  for  a while. 

When,  a few  hours  afterwards,  she  called 
Mawedo  and  put  into  her  hand  a letter  ad- 
dressed to  the  doctor,  Mawedo  was  startled 
by  the  intense  calmness  with  which  Miss 
Helen  spoke,  and  by  the  far-away  look  of  her 
sad  eyes,  and  the  pained  expression  of  the 
firm  mouth,  whose  lips  locked  themselves 
after  the  necessary  words  of  direction. 

Mawedo,  as  she  turned  on  her  errand, 
had  not  the  heart  to  prove  traitress  to  the 
trust  of  the  mistress  whose  look  of  distress 
had  so  touched  her;  she  dared  not  open  and 
read  this  missive  as  she  had  read  the  doc- 
tor's. She  judged  of  its  contents  only  from 
the  doctor’s  note,  which,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished slowly  reading  the  letter,  he  hastily 
penned  and  sent  back  by  her.  He  wrote  : 


MAWEDO. 


1 66 

“ Miss  Cameron’s  decision  that  further 
pleading  would  be  useless  almost  makes  my 
pleading  further  unmanly.  Yet  I unhesita- 
tingly avail  myself  of  the  permission  for  to- 
morrow afternoon — if  for  no  other  reason,  to 
thank  her  for  the  nobility  that  knew  how  to 
be  generous  even  while  it  bade  me  be  hope- 
less. None  the  less  admiringly  and  respect- 
fully yours, 

“H.  M.  N.” 

Mawedo  read  the  note  with  a guilty  feel- 
ing. It  was  a part  of  that  new  revelation  to 
her;  but  there  was  still  a mystery.  Thought 
she,  “ This  white  woman  loves  this  white 
man,  but  she  does  not  accept  him,  or  even 
permit  him  to  plead.” 

The  next  afternoon  the  doctor  called,  and 
Miss  Helen  accompanied  him  in  a short  walk 
around  the  premises.  Then  he  left,  slowly 
and  dejectedly,  and  she  shut  herself  up  in 
her  room. 

Mawedo,  with  a watchfulness  that  in  its 


Page  175. 


A REVELATION. 


167 


closeness  could  be  excused  only  by  her  de- 
voted love  for  her  mistress,  saw  Miss  Helen 
sink  in  tears  by  the  bedside,  heard  her  plead- 
ing tones,  and  caught  occasional  words,  as 
the  lady  asked  God’s  blessing  on  what  she 
had  done,  laid  herself  again  a living  sacrifice 
on  the  Saviour’s  altar,  and  sought  the  peace 
of  the  blessed  Spirit. 

Peace  came.  When  again  she  stepped 
from  her  room,  and  took  up  the  burden  of 
life  among  her  pupils,  it  was  with  her  accus- 
tomed smile  and  cheerful  words. 

Did  Miss  Helen  ever  know  that  in  that 
hour  when  she  thought  she  was  alone  with 
her  God,  she  had,  in  her  Christian  heroism, 
given  the  key  to  the  mystery  of  a new  revela- 
tion to  an  erring  native  sister,  who,  crouched 
against  the  chinks  of  the  bamboo  walls  of  an 
adjoining  room,  had,  from  very  sympathy, 
joined  her  in  her  tears,  and,  witness  of  her 
conflict,  had  shared  with  her  in  her  victory  ? 
Mawedo  thenceforth  carried  in  her  heart  and 


i68 


A/A  WEDO. 


copied  more  and  more  in  her  life  a model  of 
womanly  love  and  purity,  and  devotion  to 
Christ.  She  learned  from  Miss  Helen’s 
prayer  of  self-consecration  why  this  white 
lady  could  give  neither  her  love  nor  herself 
to  a man  whose  honorable  love  was  a temp- 
tation to  forsake  the  path  that  she  believed 
God  called  her  to  walk  in.  She  began  to 
appreciate  that  there  was  an  earthward  love 
that  for  the  sake  of  the  higher  Godward  love 
could  deny  itself,  and,  though  suffering,  be 
strong  in  the  grace  given  by  Him  who  point- 
ed out  the  way. 

Mawedo  saw  the  handsome  stranger  visit 
the  Mission  House  only  once  more,  when  he 
called  to  say  good-by  before  sailing  away  to 
bury  his  sorrow  in  the  pursuits  of  his  profes- 
sion, as  Miss  Helen  buried  hers  in  her  school 
work. 


BABY  FINGERS. 


169 


XYII.  BABY  FINGERS. 

“ And  a little  child  shall  lead  them.” 

Very  few  of  the  white  men  trading  on 
the  coast  were  married,  or,  if  married,  they 
had  left  their  wives  in  their  far-away  homes. 
But  the  captains  of  vessels  trading  in  some 
of  the  more  frequented  waters  occasionally 
brought  with  them  an  invalid  wife  or  child, 
for  the  sake  of  the  benefit  hoped  for  from  the 
sea- voyage. 

Captain  Holbrook  was  thus  situated,  and 
sought,  among  the  mission  girls  on  Corisco 
Island,  an  attendant  fitted  to  be  a nurse  to 
his  little  two-years-old  baby  Alice,  and  also  a 
companion  for  his  gentle  Christian  wife. 

The  vessel  was  on  its  way  to  a port  a 
hundred  miles  distant,  where  it  was  to  lie 
trading  for  a year  or  two.  Captain  Hol- 
brook, though  not  a professing  Christian, 

22 


Mawedo. 


170 


MA  WEDO. 


was  honorable  and  kind,  and  the  situation 
was  a good  one  for  Mawedo,  financially  in 
her  favor,  and  comparatively  safe  for  her 
Christian  life. 

So  she  sailed  away,  sad  and  yet  glad,  for 
she  was  going  with  the  consent  and  blessing 
of  her  pastor,  and  was  in  the  line  of  duty. 

Not  only  were  her  busy  hands  serviceable 
with  the  needle  and  in  washing  and  ironing, 
but  her  mind,  well-informed,  as  compared 
with  other  natives’  minds,  made  her  an  appre- 
ciative listener  when  Mrs.  Holbrook  read 
aloud,  or  described  civilized  lands.  Her 
manners,  refined  by  association  with  her 
loved  teacher,  made  her  acceptable  to  the 
gentle  lady  whom  she  was  now  serving.  Her 
strong  arms  were  not  tired  in  nursing  baby 
Alice,  who,  not  being  a very  vigorous  child, 
had  wearied  her  delicate  mother  in  her  desire 
to  be  carried.  And  her  vivacity  found  con- 
stant call  for  exercise  in  efforts  to  amuse  the 
child  so  that  the  unquiet  sleep  of  the  mother 


BAB  Y FINGERS. 


171 

might  not  be  broken  by  her  cries.  Her 
ardent,  impulsive,  affectionate  nature  devo- 
ted itself  to  the  little  one  and  to  the  invalid 
mother.  The  sea  air  benefited  the  latter,  but 
the  warm  climate,  despite  the  aid  of  the  sea 
air,  tired  the  child,  and  she  grew  weaker  and 
paler. 

In  her  devotion  to  little  Alice  Mawedo 
found  a protection. 

In  the  trading  community  whose  mem- 
bers were  coming  and  going  among  the  ship- 
ping, were  young  men,  who,  misjudging  Ma- 
wedo, offered  her  attentions  which  were  to 
her  no  longer  temptations,  but  persecutions. 
The  captain  was  too  busy  for  her  to  appeal 
to  him  for  protection  against  his  own  em- 
ployes ; she  wished  not  to  distress  Mrs.  Hol- 
brook by  complaints  to  her  against  men  who 
in  that  lady’s  presence  were  apparently  per- 
fect gentlemen ; and  her  position  as  a servant 
had  not  the  defences  which  civilized  lands 
afford.  In  indignant  silence  she  turned  away 


172 


MAIVEDO. 


from  unbecoming  professions  of  friendship, 
and,  clasping  more  tightly  to  her  bosom  the 
little  white-faced  Alice,  said  in  her  heart,  “ O 
Miss  Helen,  if  you  were  here,  he  would  not 
dare  to  speak  before  you,  a white  woman,  in 
that  way ; you  would  be  my  guard.  And 
you,  baby  Alice,  your  face  is  white  like  his 
own ; if  he  touches  me,  put  out  your  little 
hand  against  him  ; perhaps  he  will  fear  your 
innocence  even  if  he  has  no  respect  for  me.” 

Strong  now  in  the  right  where  she  alone 
was  concerned,  Mawedo,  in  her  intense  devo- 
tion to  the  child  and  her  mother,  might  still 
have  been  tempted  to  do  wrong  for  their 
sake,  might  have  stolen,  or  told  an  untruth, 
if  she  had  thought  they  would  be  benefited 
thereby. 

Part  of  the  year  was  spent  in  the  cabin 
of  the  captain’s  vessel  at  anchor  in  the  har- 
bor, and  part  in  the  trading-house  ashore. 
Once,  when  thus  living  ashore,  a favorite 
dog  with  her  litter  of  pups  spent  each  night 


BABY  FINGERS. 


J73 


in  the  open  space  under  the  house.  The 
yelping  of  the  little  dogs,  afflicted  with  mos- 
quitoes, was  more  noticeable  at  night  than 
during  the  day,  and  disturbed  Mrs.  Hol- 
brook’s sleep.  Too  kind  to  express  a wish 
for  their  destruction,  she  could  not  refrain 
one  night  from  saying, 

“ Oh,  I wish  those  dogs  were  away.” 

Her  husband  replied,  “Certainly;  I’ll 
attend  to  it  to-morrow.” 

“ But  do  n’t  have  the  poor  little  things 
killed.” 

“ Oh,  no ; I ’ll  only  have  them  sent  to 
town.” 

But  the  next  day  the  captain,  ready  to 
promise  at  night,  was  too  busy  to  remember 
to  fulfil  his  promise.  And  when  several 
nights  had  thus  passed,  and  the  lady  became 
nervous  with  the  annoyance,  Mawedo  could 
restrain  herself  no  longer.  So,  secretly 
going  to  the  captain’s  medicine  chest,  she 
took  thence  the  bottle  of  chloroform,  which 


i74 


MA IVEDO. 


she  had  seen  him  use  for  suffocating  the 
moths  and  butterflies  and  beetles  that  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  collecting.  Slipping 
quietly  under  the  house,  she  chloroformed 
the  entire  litter  of  pups,  and  flung  them  into 
an  adjacent  reedy  marsh.  As  she  returned 
to  her  bed  she  overheard  Mrs.  Holbrook  ex- 
press to  her  husband  her  relief  that  at  last 
the  dogs  had  “ gone  to  sleep.”  But  the  inno- 
cent lady  never  knew  what  had  put  them  to 
.sleep.  Nor  did  anybody  know  next  day 
where  the  pups  were,  as  poor  Flora  went 
around  wistfully  whining  for  her  progeny. 

Little  Alice  grew  paler  and  weaker.  The 
slender  limbs,  that  had  successfully  essayed 
to  walk,  ceased  to  venture  to  put  forward  the 
tiny  feet  from  chair  to  chair.  She  wished 
often  to  be  in  her  mother’s  arms,  where  she 
lay  satisfied,  one  hand  playing  with  the  but- 
tons of  the  lady’s  dress,  and  the  other  grasp- 
ing the  chestnut  curls  that  fell  forward  as 
the  mother  leaned  over  her  baby’s  face.  Ma- 


BABY  FINGERS. 


I75 


wedo,  standing  by,  and  ready — more  than 
ready — to  relieve  Mrs.  Holbrook  of  the  loved 
weight  that  each  day  seemed  to  grow  lighter, 
was  glad  to  get  the  little  one  in  her  arms. 
Her  position  in  her  employer’s  family  and  in 
the  community  was  now  assured  by  her  own 
good  conduct,  and  she  kissed  devotedly  the 
baby  hands  that  God  had  given  to  be  with 
her  as  unconscious  but  potent  guides  and 
safeguards  in  time  of  distress.  When  finally 
Alice  expired  in  her  mother’s  arms,  with  her 
thin  fingers  twined  in  the  favorite  curl,  none 
wept  wore  sadly  than  Mawedo.  And 
scarcely  did  the  Christian  mother,  in  her 
submission,  give  more  grateful  thanks  to  the 
loving  Father  above  than  did  Mawedo,  for 
the  blessing  that  he  had  conferred  in  the 
brief  earthly  life  of  the  little  one. 


176 


MAWEDO. 


XYIII.  A WITCHCRAFT  MURDER. 

It  was  well  for  Mawedo’s  happiness  that 
she  was  away  from  Corisco  Island  at  her  ser- 
vice as  child’s  nurse.  For  at  the  same  time 
that  the  events  of  the  last  chapter  were  trans- 
piring, there  was  being  enacted  on  the  Island 
a scene  that  would  have  torn  her  heart  not 
only  with  grief,  but  with  humiliation,  had 
she  been  a witness. 

Osongo,  the  chief  of  Kamba  village,  after 
an  illness  of  a few  weeks,  had  finally  died 
suddenly.  It  was  believed  by  the  mission- 
aries and  other  white  residents  that  his  bro- 
ther Ajai,  covetous  of  Osongo ’s  possessions, 
and  desirous  of  the  chieftainship,  had  se- 
cretly poisoned  him.  But  Ajai  was  the 
loudest  mourner,  and  long  before  the  act- 
ual death  had  been  the  most  vindictive  in 
searching  for  a victim  on  whom  to  lay  a 


A WITCHCRAFT  MURDER. 


*77 


charge  of  witchcraft.  And  he  selected  Aye- 
nwe. 

Since  her  arrival  on  Corisco,  nine  years 
before,  she  had  led  a patient,  laborious  life — 
not  sullen  or  spiteful  as  at  Aduma,  not  rest- 
less as  at  Orungu.  Escape  from  the  island 
was  almost  impossible,  or,  if  possible,  would 
have  secured  nothing  better  than  immediate 
re-enslavement  on  the  adjacent  mainland. 
Conviction  of  this  had  induced  quiet  sub- 
mission, and  withheld  occasion  for  those  pas- 
sionate outbursts  of  temper  that  had  pre- 
viously brought  only  harsh  treatment.  There 
was,  therefore,  no  reason  why  Ayenwe  should 
be  charged  with  bewitching,  other  than  that 
the  knowledge  that  twice  before  in  her  life 
the  charge  had  been  laid  against  her  else- 
where made  her  a convenient  victim.  More- 
over there  was  not  one  belonging  to  the  fam- 
ily of  the  sick  man  to  gainsay  her  accusers, 
or  defend  her,  if  the  former  chose  to  sacri- 
fice her. 


Mawedo. 


23 


i78 


MAIVEDO. 


Ayenwe  heard  from  her  fellow-slaves  of 
the  intention  of  Ajai  towards  her,  and,  with 
futile  hope,  she  secretly  fled  one  night  to  the 
forest  thickets  of  the  Girls’  School  premises, 
which,  not  being  constantly  traversed  by  the 
public,  had  grown  dense.  She  expected  to 
find  some  safety  in  the  right  of  asylum 
which,  even  by  the  heathen,  had  been  ac- 
corded to  all  refugees,  from  whatever  cause, 
on  the  mission  premises.  For  two  weeks 
she  lived  a wretched  life,  hiding  by  day,  and 
at  night  stealthily  coming  to  out-houses 
near  the  school,  where  lived  two  mission  em- 
ployes, who  though  themselves  relatives  of 
Osongo,  as  Christians  harbored  and  fed  her. 
But  they  told  her  not  to  reveal  herself  to  the 
missionary,  lest  the  public  effort  he  would 
then  probably  make  to  defend  her  should 
drag  him  into  a personal  conflict  with  her 
masters. 

Search  for  the  fugitive,  who  by  the  very 
act  of  flight  had,  according  to  native  reason- 


A WITCHCRAFT  MURDER. 


179 


ing,  indisputably  fixed  criminality  on  her- 
self, was  diligently  kept  up  by  her  enemies. 
Having  allied  with  themselves  all  the  super- 
stition of  the  whole  island,  they  had  actively 
been  aided  in  traversing  every  probable  nook 
in  the  entire  forest,  excepting  the  Mission 
Grounds,  which  hitherto  they  had  not  dared 
invade. 

One  day,  just  after  Osongo’s  death,  near 
the  noon  school-recess,  as  the  native  assis- 
tant teacher  was  with  the  girls  in  the  school- 
house,  one  of  the  children,  sitting  by  an  open 
window,  spied  a crouching  female  form  ma- 
king its  way  to  the  kitchen  shed.  The  star- 
tled child  cried  to  the  teacher,  “ Moto!  moto!” 

(A  person!  a person!)  The  form  retreated 

% 

into  the  bushes,  and  at  recess  the  teacher  re- 
ported the  occurrence  to  the  missionary,  who 
with  a heavy  heart  guessed  too  well  who  it 
was.  He  feared  that  Ayenwe’s  unwise  act 
in  seeking  for  a firebrand  with  which  to 
make  a fire  to  cook  the  snails  she  had 


M A WE  DO. 


180 

picked  up  in  the  thicket,  would  shortly  lead 
to  her  discovery. 

It  was  so.  Ajai  soon  called  alone  at  the 
school,  and  respectfully  requested  to  see  the 
missionary  privately  in  his  study.  With 
well-simulated  grief  for  his  brother’s  death, 
and  politic  allusions  to  the  missionary’s  for- 
mal friendship  for  Osongo  as  one  of  the  pa- 
trons of  the  school,  he  humbly  asked  for  a 
white  shirt  in  which  to  array  his  brother  for 
the  grave,  promising  to  pay  for  it  in  a few 
days.  This  being  given,  he  went  on  to  beg 
permission  to  search  the  mission  compound 
for  the  alleged  murderess  of  Osongo.  The 
permission  was  promptly  refused;  but  Ajai, 
on  grounds  that  the  missionary  himself 
would  have  admitted  in  case  of  actual  mur- 
der, deferentially  continued  to  argue  for  per- 
mission. 

Suddenly,  a loud  shout  was  set  up  in  the 
public  path  near  the  school,  and  Ajai,  recog- 
nizing certain  words,  jumped  up — all  his  de- 


A WITCHCRAFT  MURDER.  181 

ferential  manner  gone — and  seizing  the  shirt 
went  away  with  it  out  of  the  house,  exclaim- 
ing, 

“We ’ve  got  the  witch  now  without  your 
permission ; and  I ’ve  got  the  shirt,  and  you 
sha’n’t  see  any  pay  for  it!” 

One  of  the  schoolgirls,  a niece  of  his, 
had  at  recess  told  Matoku,  a Kamba,  slave 
employed  on  the  premises,  where  the  fugitive 
was  secreted.  And  Matoku,  with  the  trai- 
torous cowardice  that  makes  most  slaves 
informers  on  each  other,  as  a means  of  en- 
hancing their  own  safety  with  their  masters, 
had  given  the  information  that  had  brought 

O O 

Ajai  and  a retinue  of  servants.  The  former 
had  hypocritically  detained  the  missionary 
by  the  private  interview  in  the  study  while 
the  servants  broke  into  the  mission  premi- 
ses, and,  led  by  Matoku,  made  the  seizure  of 
the  half-dazed  fugitive.  Their  shout  was  the 
understood  signal  that  had  led  Ajai  to  so 
suddenly  close  the  interview  in  the  study. 


MAIVEDO. 


182 

The  missionary  saw  Ayenwe  being 
dragged  away,  tormentors  beating  her  with 
thorns  as  she  stumbled  along.  The  dis- 
charge of  Matoku  from  employment  at  the 
Mission  House  and  the  dismissal  of  Ajai’s 
niece  from  school,  the  heathen  regarded  as 
but  a slight  punishment.  The  missionary’s 
attempts  to  plead  with  Ajai  for  Ayenwe’s  life 
were  met  with  undisguised  admissions  of 
Ajai’s  fixed  purpose  to  kill  her.  With  a 
family  as  prominent  on  the  Island  and  as 
wedded  to  heathenism  as  was  Osongo’s,  and 
in  the  face  of  the  current  that  set  against 
Ayenwe,  the  influences  that  the  missionary 
was  able  to  employ,  and  which  had  at  other 
times  resulted  in  saving  the  lives  of  those 
accused  of  witchcraft,  proved  ineffectual,  and 
he  sadly  returned  to  his  house,  baffled.  A 
Christian  native  told  him  that  Ayenwe  was 
to  be  put  in  a boat  and  murdered  at  sea,  so 
as  to  prevent  any  interference  that  it  was 
thought  the  white  man  might  possibly  attempt. 


A WITCHCRAFT  MURDER.  183 

With  a spy-glass,  the  missionary  saw  a 
native  boat  shoot  rapidly  out  from  beyond  a 
point  of  land  half  a mile  distant.  The 
rowers  rested  on  their  oars  when  they  had 
reached  deep  water,  and  he  saw  poor  Aye- 
nwe  cast  lifeless  into  the  sea. 

He  did  not  see  another  tragedy  that  at 
the  same  time  was  being  enacted  on  the 
beach  behind  the  point.  Ayenwe’s  son  was 
now  a stout  lad  of  fourteen,  and  Ajai,  fear- 
ing that  he  would  live  to  avenge  his  mo- 
ther’s murder,  had  ordered  him  also  to  be 
killed  as  an  accomplice  with  her.  The  lad 
was  seized,  his  hands  and  limbs  were  tied, 
and  he  too  was  cruelly  put  to  death  on  the 
beach. 

His  little  sister,  seven  years  old,  was  not 
a witness  of  her  brother’s  or  her  mother’s 
death.  Treated  with  some  degree  of  kind- 
ness, but  carefully  guarded  by  an  old  woman, 
who  thenceforth  was  accepted  as  her  adop- 
tive mother,  the  child  was  allowed  to  live, 


184 


MA  WED  O. 


her  sex  making  her  valuable  as  a servant  and 
available  as  a future  wife. 

A native  Christian,  who  stood,  a pitying 
but  helpless  eye-witness  of  the  scene,  after- 
wards told  the  missionary  that  Ayenwe,  as 
she  walked  to  the  boat,  led  and  forced  for- 
ward by  strong  arms,  seeing  his  merciful  eye, 
cried  to  him  by  name,  saying, 

“I  am  dying!  What  shall  I do?” 

Perhaps  her  question  was  an  aimless  one, 
uttered  at  random.  Perhaps  she  thought 
only  of  her  earthly  life.  The  Christian  had 
time  only  to  say,  as  she  was  hurried  past, 
“Call  on  Jesus!” 

Ayenwe,  though  all  her  life  a believer  in 
feticism,*  had  never  practised  witchcraft  and 

* Feticism  lias  been  briefly  defined  as  the  doctrine  that 
spirits  are  “embodied  in,  or  attached  to,  or  convey  influence 
through,  certain  material  objects,”  which  may  be  either  nat- 
ural, as,  for  instance,  a particular  tree  or  animal  or  stone,  or 
artificial.  A Guinea  negro,  when  about  to  enter  upon  some 
undertaking,  will  generally  choose  some  object  upon  which 
his  eye  first  rests  on  starting  forth,  and  vow  to  worship  it 
as  his  god  if  he  be  successful;  if  he  fail,  he  rejects  the 


A WITCHCRAFT  MURDER.  185 

was  innocent  of  any  attempt  at  murder. 
She  knew  who  Jesus  was.  She  had  heard 
Mawedo  tell  of  his  birth  and  life  and  death. 
As  the  poor  woman  stood  by  the  water’s 
edge  while  her  ankles  were  being  bound,  she 
tore  away  with  her  yet  free  hands  the  only 
fetish  that  was  hanging  about  her  neck,  and 
having  flung  it  into  the  sea,  extended  her 
arms  in  prayer  heavenward,  saying  with 
streaming  eyes, 

“ This  thing  is  of  no  use.  I walk  in 
darkness.  O Jesus,  God  of  my  child,  if  thou 
canst  help  me,  help  me!” 

God  hears  prayer.  Did  he  not  hear  ? 
Did  he  not  answer  ? Did  he  not  save  ? 

chosen  object  with  abuse.  Fetishes  which  in  the  owner’s 
view  have  proved  propitious  and  efficacious  are  cherished 
with  devotion. 


Mawedo 


24 


i86 


MAWEDO. 


XIX.  A NEW  PATH. 

The  two  years’  cruise,  on  which  Ma- 
wedo’s  English  employer  was  engaged,  was 
about  to  close,  and  she  was  soon  to  part 
from  the  lady  who  had  been  so  truly  a friend, 
and  who,  since  the  death  of  little  Alice,  had 
treated  the  child’s  devoted  nurse  almost  as 
an  adopted  daughter. 

Mrs.  Holbrook  wished  to  arrange  com- 
fortably for  Mawedo’s  future,  who,  now  about 
twenty-one  years  of  age,  could  not  expect  to 
go  back  to  her  Mission  House  friends  for 
support.  The  lady  therefore  judiciously  and 
delicately  encouraged  a growing  tenderness 
which,  she  was  pleased  to  observe,  Mawedo 
manifested  to  the  honorable  advances  of  one 
of  the  captain’s  native  traders,  a young  man 
who,  though  not  a professing  Christian,  had 
been  to  some  extent  educated  in  the  Gaboon 


A NEW  PATH. 


187 


Boys’  School,  and  who  by  his  good  conduct 
commended  himself  to  the  esteem  of  all  with 
whom  he  dealt. 

Mawedo’s  experience  and  strengthened 
principles  made  her  shun  attentions  from 
any  man,  until  she  had,  with  a filial  feeling, 
referred  him  for  endorsement  to  the  captain 
and  his  wife.  These  two,  satisfied  of  the 
young  man's  sincerity  and  business  ability, 
heartily  recommended  him.  Mawedo’s  affec- 
tionate nature  was  then  ready  to  respond  to 
his  earnest  and  manly  proposal. 

Her  prospect  of  marriage  led  her  over  a 
very  new  path.  Never  before  had  she  felt 
the  self-respect  or  been  treated  with  the 
esteem  that  came  to  her  in  the  path  that  led 
to  Christian  marriage.  She  seemed  to  her- 
self to  be  invested  with  something  like  the 
dignity  that  belonged  to  married  missionary 
ladies,  but  which  Mawedo  had  imagined  per- 
tained to  them  as  white  women,  members  of 
a race  different  from  hers.  Her  eyes  were 


MAIVEDO. 


1 88 


now  fully  opened  to  the  fact  that  that 
dignity  could  be  hers  as  well,  in  right  of  her 
Christian  womanhood,  and  regardless  of 
race. 

The  services  of  an  adjacent  missionary 
were  engaged,  and  Mawedo,  adorned,  and 
furnished,  as  to  her  well-filled  travelling  chest, 
by  the  generosity  of  the  captain  and  his 
wife,  sat  down  as  a bride  to  an  abundant 
feast,  provided  by  the  same  kind  patrons. 
Appreciation  of  the  higher  social  level  to 
which  she  saw  her  new  position  lifted  her 
made  her  more  deeply  grateful  for  the  Chris- 
tianity that  had  ennobled  her  life,  more 
earnest  in  her  secret  prayer  for  strength  to 
serve  the  divine  Redeemer  who  had  called 
her  out  of  heathen  bondage.  This  gratitude 
and  loyalty  to  Christ,  irrespective  of  the  love 
and  admiration  that  her  husband  inspired, 
were  enough  to  make  sure  the  vows  she  had 
taken  of  fidelity  as  a wife. 

When,  shortly  afterwards,  the  captain 


A NEW  PATH. 


189 


closed  his  trade  and  returned  to  England, 
Mawedo’s  husband  took  her  with  him  to  the 
Gaboon,  to  seek  employment  in  some  of 
the  avenues  of  commerce  up  the  many  new 
rivers  that  were  being  opened  along  that 
estuary,  and  in  the  delta  of  the  Ogowe. 


MAWEDO. 


190 


XX.  A BROTHER  INDEED. 

The  Mission  Church  at  Gaboon  had  its 
religious  meetings  at  different  hours,  to  suit 
the  convenience  of  different  classes  of  the 
congregation.  Some  of  the  prayer-meetings 
were  conducted  by  missionaries,  and  others 
only  by  native  members.  At  those  attended 
only  by  native  Christians  there  was  less  re- 
striction in  the  range  of  topics  discussed, 
and  more  readiness  to  speak,  on  the  part  of 
both  men  and  women. 

Mawedo,  living  in  an  adjacent  village 
during  the  year  that  her  husband  was  em- 
ployed in  one  of  the  trading-houses,  was  a 
regular  attendant  at  these  meetings.  What- 
ever her  own  origin  might  have  been,  the 
position  of  her  husband’s  family  insured  her 
a cordial  reception  in  the  community.  And 
in  the  narrow  limits  of  the  church  brother- 


A BROTHER  INDEED. 


I9I 

hood  very  little  time  was  required  to  make 
acquaintance,  especially  for  one  who,  like 
herself,  had  been  a pupil  in  another  part 
of  that  mission  field.  Missionaries  and 
church  members  all  heartily  welcomed  her, 
and  invited  her  to  visit  at  their  houses  as  a 
sister. 

Conversations  in  the  different  homes,  and 
the  revelations  of  personal  experiences  in  the 
prayer-meetings,  often  brought  out  strange 
histories  and  remarkable  providential  deal- 
ings. A man  about  twenty-four  years  of  age, 
an  assistant  in  the  school,  spoke  one  evening 
on  the  value  of  Christian  fellowship,  particu- 
larly for  those  who,  like  himself,  were  with- 
out known  relatives  in  the  world.  He  ad- 
mitted a fact  that  he  did  not  like  to  speak  of 
in  the  presence  of  strangers,  who  supposed 
him  a born  member  of  the  proud  Mpongwe 
tribe — namely,  that  he  was  a Mpongwe  only 
by  adoption.  He  could  remember  coming, 
as  a child,  from  a tribe  on  the  Ogowe  river, 


ig2 


MAIVEDO. 


and  regretted  that  he  had  no  knowledge  of 
what  had  become  of  his  mother  and  little 
sister,  whom  he  could  barely  recall. 

Mawedo’s  curiosity  was  aroused,  for  she 
herself  remembered  the  Ogowe  river,  and 
had  heard  her  mother  speak  of  a lost  elder 
son.  After  the  meeting  Mawedo  asked  the 
man  his  mother’s  name,  and  was  startled 
when  he  said,  “ Ayenwe.”  It  was  not  proof 
positive  of  the  identity  of  their  family  that 
the  name  was  the  same  as  that  of  her  mo- 
ther, nor  did  it  argue  against  identity  that 
the  man’s  name  was  not  Ovanga,  for  natives 
often  change  their  given  names  several  times 
between  infancy  and  old  age.  Under  the 
impulse  of  something  better  than  mere  curi- 
osity, the  two,  looking  into  each  other’s  eyes 
with  a new  hope,  sat  down  in  a hut,  and, 
around  the  night  fire,  with  a few  friends, 
gathered  up  the  threads  of  their  personal 
history  from  childhood.  The  man  told  of 
childhood’s  plays  far  up  the  Ogowe ; he 


A BROTHER  INDEED. 


J9  3 


scarcely  could  remember  whether  his  mo- 
ther’s husband  was  his  father  or  his  master. 
He  said  that  his  young  master  had  been 
murdered,  and  that  he  himself  had  been  sold 
into  captivity  down  river  to  a man  of  the 
Nkami  tribe ; that  one  day  he  had  seen  a 
fleet  of  slave  canoes,  and  in  one  of  them  a 
chained  woman  whom  he  with  difficulty  re- 
cognized as  his  mother;  with  a little  girl  and 
boy  she  had  soon  been  carried  on  down  river, 
and  he  had  known  nothing  further  of  them; 
that  the  Nk'ami  man  had  left  him  as  a 
“pawn”  in  the  hands  of  a white  man  on  the 
Fernando  Vaz  mouth  of  the  Ogowe,  in  pay- 
ment for  a trade  debt;  that  he  had  never 
been  redeemed  by  the  Nkami,  and  that  the 
white  man,  not  liking  to  seem  to  hold  slaves, 
had  placed  him  and  other  pawns  at  school  as 
wards  of  the  Mission,  which,  to  justify  itself 
before  the  public,  had  had  free  papers 
made  for  them  by  the  French  government; 
that  he  had  grown  up  as  a pupil,  was  con- 

25 


Mawedo. 


194 


MA  WED  O. 


verted,  and  now  served  as  assistant  in  the 
school. 

Mawedo  barely  waited  for  the  close  of 
the  recital  to  throw  herself  into  her  brother’s 
arms,  and  there,  while  with  fraternal  feeling 
he  responded  to  her  affectionate  embrace, 
she  added,  from  her  own  childhood’s  mem- 
ories, links  to  his  chain  of  identity.  She 
told  him  that  her  mother  had  spoken  to  her 
of  an  older  brother  who  had  gone  out  hunt- 
ing with  his  master  and  had  never  come 
back  ; that  while  sitting  with  her  mother  and 
infant  brother  in  a slave  canoe  by  a sandbar 
in  the  Ogowe  river,  she  had  seen  her  mother 
weep  over  a boy  whom  she  claimed  as  her 
lost  child;  and  that  they  had  passed  on,  and 
had  never  heard  of  him  again.  Mawedo’s 
own  years,  calculated  at  about  twenty-two, 
coincided  with  the  age  of  the  little  girl  whom 
Ovanga  remembered.  Reciprocally  assured 
that  they  were  the  children  of  poor  Ayenwe, 
they  claimed  each  other  as  brother  and  sis- 


A BROTHER  INDEED. 


r95 


ter — the  more  gladly  because  each  had  sup- 
posed that  the  other  was  dead,  and  the  more 
thankfully  because  they  found  each  other 
alive  in  Christ.  Tearfully  they  went  over 
afterwards,  when  they  were  by  themselves, 
what  they  had  heard  from  others  of  the 
tragic  fate  of  their  mother  and  younger  bro- 
ther, comforting  themselves  with  the  hope 
that  sprang  from  Ayenwe’s  dying  prayer. 

The  brother  and  sister  visited  Corisco 
and  made  inquiry  for  their  ten-years-old  little 
sister.  But  they  almost  regretted  that  they 
had  followed  her  up,  for  they  returned  from 
their  errand  saddened  by  finding  that  the 
child  made  no  response  to  their  offered  love, 
was  estranged  from  their  mother’s  memory, 
regarded  herself  as  a native  Benga,  and 
seemed  satisfied  with  her  surroundings.  The 
Kamba  women  had  wisely  treated  the  child 
as  their  own  after  Ayenwe’s  murder,  and  the 
poor  mother  was  remembered  by  the  daugh- 
ter— if  indeed  she  thought  of  her  at  all — as  a 


196  MAWEDO. 

criminal,  connection  with  whom  was  dis- 
graceful. She  willingly  found  escape  from 
unkind  taunts  of  playmates  in  accepting  the 
claim  of  the  old  Benga  woman  with  whom 
she  lived,  that  she  was  her  real  mother.  Un- 
der the  inspiration  of  this  Benga  guardian’s 
jealousy  the  girl  did  not  respond  to  her  sis- 
ter’s kindly  messages,  sent  from  time  to  time. 
Mawedo  therefore  ceased  to  send  them,  but 
clung  the  more  closely  to  the  brother  who 
was  so  truly  hers. 


CARRYING  THE  LIGHT. 


1 97 


XXI.  CARRYING  THE  LIGHT. 

Mawedo’s  husband  was  commissioned  by 
his  employer  to  travel  up  the  Ogowe  river 
with  a large  stock  of  goods,  for  carrying  on  a 
trade  with  the  villages  located  on  the  banks 
of  the  numerous  affluents  to  the  main  stream. 
Establishing  himself  at  a certain  place,  and 
building  a comfortable  bamboo  house  there, 
he  thence  journeyed  all  through  the  region, 
within  a radius  of  fifty  miles,  in  a large  canoe 
manned  by  a dozen  stout  young  men.  En- 
livening was  the  sight  of  the  long,  sharp- 
bowed  canoe  working  its  way  slowly  against 
the  current,  or  flying  down  with  it,  propelled 
by  the  regular  strokes  of  a half-dozen  pairs 
of  paddles  moving  in  unison  with  the  boat- 
songs  of  the  crew.  Sometimes  the  music 
echoed  through  the  solemn  forests  on  the 
banks,  or  floated  over  wide  reaches  of  the 


198  MAWEDO. 

island-studded  river,  where  for  miles  there 
were  no  witnesses  or  listeners  other  than  the 
hippopotami  snorting  defiance,  or  the  wild 
fowl  screaming,  or  the  monkeys  chattering — 
all  of  them  startled  at  the  report  of  guns  that 
sought  among;  them  a feast.  The  stern  of 
the  canoe  was  well  roofed  over,  so  as  to  form 
a small  bamboo-thatch  house  that  protected 
the  trader  and  his  especial  friends,  and  the 
French  flag  fluttered  before  the  admiring 
eyes  of  the  villagers  on  the  banks. 

Mawedo  had  followed  her  husband  in  his 
river-life,  and  often  accompanied  him  on 
these  journeys,  though  generally  she  was  left 
in  charge  of  his  house  and  goods  during  his 
absence.  No  other  professing  Christian  was 
near  her,  but  she  had  a calendar  of  the  days, 
checked  off  each  day  as  it  passed,  and  kept 
the  Sabbaths  as  they  came  around.  She 
alone  made  the  little  centre  of  Sabbath  air 
and  Sabbath  influence  wherever  she  hap- 
pened to  be.  The  heathen  knew  of  no  such 


CARR  YING  THE  LIGHT. 


199 


day,  and  hunted  and  fished  and  worked  on 
it  as  on  all  other  days.  But  her  influence 
induced  her  husband  to  close  his  storeroom 
on  that  day ; and,  dressed  in  clean  clothing, 
they  sat  under  the  broad  eaves  of  the  house, 
or  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  on  the  river 
bank,  with  books  or  pictures  or  conversa- 
tion. It  was  a lonely,  tempted  life.  She 
could  not  always  govern  the  character  of  her 
husband’s  amusements  or  conversation.  But 
she  did  induce  a Sabbath  quiet.  And  she 
persuaded  some  of  the  village  children  to 
intermit  their  plays  long  enough  to  listen  to 
her  descriptions  of  the  Bible  pictures  she  had 
brought  with  her.  These,  with  readings  from 
the  Bible  and  the  singing  of  Christian  hymns, 
every  Sabbath  told  the  story  of  Jesus  in  an 
impromptu  Sabbath-school.  If  Mawedo  was 
on  a journey  with  her  husband,  and  he  re- 
frained, at  her  wish,  from  travelling  on  the 
Sabbath,  remaining  over  at  whatever  village 
they  had  come  to  on  Saturday  evening,  she 


2 00 


MAWEDO. 


let  her  light  shine  by  some  Bible  reading  or 
story  of  pictures,  that  relieved  the  tedium  of 
idly  waiting,  and  left  in  the  memory  of  the 
children,  and  even  of  the  adults  of  the  vil- 
lage, some  impress  of  the  name  of  Jesus. 

That  which  her  husband  at  first  assented 
to  under  constraint  of  the  memory  of  what 
he  himself  had  been  taught  in  the  Mission 
School,  and  also  for  the  sake  of  her  wish,  in 
regard  to  the  outward  observance  of  the  Sab- 
bath and  other  Christian  proprieties,  he  was 
in  time  impelled,  by  the  winning  consistency 
of  Mawedo’s  life,  to  choose  as  in  itself  pref- 
erable. 

He  was  but  an  indifferent  reader  of  Eng- 
lish, having  been  only  a comparatively  short 
while  in  school,  during  which  time  he  had 
been  taught  through  the  medium  of  native 
translations.  Influenced  by  the  native  view 
of  the  relations  of  the  sexes,  many  men,  desi- 
rous.of  being  taught,  would  have  felt  it  a dis- 
c-race to  submit  to  a wife  as  a teacher.  But 


I 


CARRYING  THE  LIGHT. 


201 


Mawedo’s  husband  had  risen  above  such  low 
views  sufficiently  to  place  himself  before  her 
as  a pupil ; and  he  found  in  her  a loving  and 
capable  teacher.  He  had  left  off  the  habit 
of  prayer  which  school  custom  had  estab- 
lished ; but  Mawedo,  regular  in  her  morning 
and  evening  devotions,  led  him  to  kneel  with 
her  at  their  little  family  altar  every  night. 

His  good  principles,  inculcated  at  school, 
together  with  his  manly  self-respect,  had  kept 
him  from  heathenish  vices.  But  in  prosecu- 
ting his  business  he  dealt  in — though  rarely 
himself  drinking  — the  intoxicating  liquors 
imported  by  his  employer,  which  the  competi- 
tion of  others  seemed  to  him  to  require  that 
he  also  should  furnish  in  trade.  This  dis- 
tressed Mawedo.  It  was  nothing  new  to 
her.  Captain  Holbrook  had  used  liquor  in 
his  trade,  and  she  had  known  that  her  hus- 
band used  it  when  she  married  him ; but  it 
troubled  her  that  she  and  her  husband  should 

share  such  a responsibility.  Leading  him 

26 


Mawedo. 


202 


MAWEDO . 


gradually  further  into  the  light,  she  induced 
him  to  take  employment  elsewhere,  where  he 
was  not  required  to  deal  in  the  evil  thing, 
whose  baleful  effects  she  had  seen  fully  exem- 
plified. His  change  of  employment  removed 
her  from  the  little  bamboo  trading-house  up 
among  the  untaught  “ bushmen  ” of  the  river, 
back  to  the  more  civilized  villages  of  the 
coast,  and  nearer  to  fellow-Christians  and  to 
the  sound  of  the  church-bell. 

The  regrets  of  the  villagers  whom  they 
left  were,  naturally,  mostly  selfish,  for  the  loss 
of  her  husband’s  trade-goods.  -But  in  some 
hearts  there  was  pain  for  the  loss  of  Mawe- 
do’s  kindly  aid  with  her  needle,  her  example 
of  civilized  dress  and  manner  that  suarerested 
possibilities  for  themselves,  and  a memory — 
vague,  but,  under  the  Spirit’s  impress,  dis- 
tinct enough  for  salvation — of  her  teachings 
about  the  Law  of  God  and  the  Life  of  our 
Redeemer. 


INTO  THE  SUNRISE. 


203 


XXII.  INTO  THE  SUNRISE. 

Two  years  had  passed  over  Mawedo  while 
up  the  Ogowe  with  her  husband,  and  another 
year  with  him  in  his  new  service  was  bring- 
ing her  to  the  close  of  her  fourth  year  of 
marriage  and  the  twenty-fifth  of  her  life. 
That  life,  that  had  been  so  checkered  in 
childhood  and  youth,  had  in  womanhood 
been  marked  by  Christian  usefulness  and 
growth.  And  as  during  the  past  few  years 
Mawedo  had  become  less  selfish  in  her  aims, 
nobility  had  brought  its  own  reward  of  hap- 
piness. Her  married  life  had  not  been  with- 
out the  occasional  clouds  that,  incident  to 
human  imperfection,  blur  the  glad  light  from 
heaven  for  even  loving  hearts.  But  those 
clouds,  quickly  passing  by,  had  cast  only 
shadows,  like  the  shadows  that  flit  over 
waving  summer  fields.  Yet  the  ripe  grain- 


204 


M A WE  DO. 


heads  beneath  do  not  therefore  cease  their 
waving. 

Only  one  regret  for  herself  lay  in  the  fact 
that  no  babe  had  been  laid  in  her  arms  to 
gratify  a desire  that  is  prominent  in  the  heart 
of  every  native  African  family.  When  the 
long-deferred  wish  was  realized,  and  life  be- 
came more  than  ever  attractive,  because  of 
the  associated  life  that  was  to  make  her  hus- 
band more  her  own,  her  own  life  began  to 
fade,  and  the  mother's  grave  was  soon  made 
near  that  of  her  short-lived  babe. 

Mawedo’s  life  faded  away,  but  not  in  lone- 
liness, or  darkness,  or  sadness.  Around  her 
were  interested  connections  of  her  husband’s 
family,  and  kind  fellow-Christians,  and  ten- 
der hands  and  voices  of  missionary  friends. 
Their  voices  blended  with  the  voice  of  her 
own  nature,  intensifying  the  wish  that  she 
might  longer  live  on  an  earth  that,  in  spite 
of  its  sinfulness,  God  was  making  lovely  to 
her.  But  these  utterances  of  human  nature 


INTO  THE  SUNRISE. 


205 


Mawedo  filially  hushed  as  she  marked  the 
still,  small  voice  of  God’s  providence  that 
said,  “ Come  up  higher.”  And  grace  was 
given  her  to  gladly  say,  “ I come.”  She 
knew  the  path  on  which  her  steps  had  en- 
tered, and  her  eyes  looked  not  into  an  un- 
known distance.  A light,  more  bright  and 
beautiful  than  that  of  star  or  moon  or  sun, 
shed  rays  through  the  clouds  that  hung 
around  and  above  that  path.  Faith  saw  the 
central  Sun  whence  came  the  blessed  rays; 
and  Hope,  that  entered  within  the  veil,  saw 
in  the  gilding  of  those  clouds  the  foretoken 
and  earnest  of  a glory  which  no  human  fancy 
could  paint  or  even  conceive.  Walls  and 
domes  and  pillars,  more  real  than  the  struc- 
tures that  the  setting  sun’s  changeful  rays 
can  build  through  the  rainbow’s  drops,  grew 
before  her  closing  eyes.  And  her  lips,  in 
humble,  trustful,  truthful  assurance,  forbade 
the  imputation  of  doubt  or  fear  to  her  own 
heart,  and  strove  to  check  the  repining  of 


2o6 


MAWEDO. 


some  who,  weeping  for  themselves,  would 
fain  have  kept  her  with  them.  To  her  hus- 
band, whom  often  she  had  “ almost  persua- 
ded,” she  held  out  her  hand’s  last  affection- 
ate touch  as  she  stepped  into  the  Light. 

And  he  was  persuaded.  In  view  of  Ma- 
wedo’s  departure,  Christian  faith  triumphed. 
Heathen  stood,  not  in  dread,  as  at  the  death- 
bed of  one  of  thqir  own  people,  but  awed  and 
attracted  by  the  solemn  yet  peaceful  dignity 
of  the  scene.  Where,  to  them,  had  always 
been  darkness,  seemed  to  shine  a light  that, 
beaming  on  the  dusky  face  of  their  friend, 
irradiated  it.  And  the  dead  lips  of  the  wife 
and  mother  spoke  a psalm  of  praise  for  the 
Gospel,  that,  taught  by  “ all  waters” — in  hut, 
at  school,  through  forest,  on  river;  preached 
in  the  ear  of  the  ignorant  slave-mother,  and 
practised  in  the  life  of  the  daughter — had 
shown  its  saving  power  for  that  mother  and 
daughter,  for  the  husband,  and  the  brother. 


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